


The Road Less Travelled

by scoradh



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-16 00:39:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 54,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1325230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scoradh/pseuds/scoradh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The adventures of Albus Severus Potter and his best friends, Scorpius Malfoy and Rambo Dursley, as they face down bullies, make friends and in passing learn some magic at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.</p><p>Written in August 2007.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> TW for bullying.  
> This certainly wins the prize for least original title EVER.

_Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,  
And sorry I could not travel both   
And be one traveller, long I stood  
And looked down one as far as I could_  
(Robert Frost)  
  
The long squeal of the train's whistle jerked Albus out of his reverie. He'd been standing on one of the toilets, trying to peer through the two-inch square window for a last glimpse of his parents and little sister. His eyes felt hot and prickly, but he was determined not to cry. James could spot red-rimmed eyes from a mile off, and no sliver of sympathy for his brother's plight would stop him teasing Albus for the next month and a half.  
  
Unfortunately the window, besides being too small even to fit his hand through, was grimy and jammed when he tried to open it out fully. All he could see was an endless sea of feet, mostly hidden beneath dust-trimmed robes. He thought he spotted Lily's favourite pumps, the ones with the pink roses that lit up and sang Weird Sisters songs whenever she clicked her heels, but a minute later they were swallowed up by the thronging crowd.  
  
As the train moved off, shuddering like a frightened animal, Albus took a deep breath and climbed off the toilet seat. He could write to his parents as soon as he arrived and they'd write back straight away, so by tomorrow he could read their words and pretend they were right there. Homesickness wasn't a very Potter emotion to feel - at least, so James insisted. Dad had never mentioned being homesick in his life, but that's because his home was Hogwarts. As for Mum, she'd been as desperate as Lily to go to school and share in the fun her brothers endlessly described. Aunt Hermione, when pressed, said that she'd been so interested in the educational opportunities Hogwarts presented that she'd forgotten to be homesick until it was too late. Albus could have done with at least one parent or relative who disliked the thought of leaving home as much as he did.  
  
He patted his satchel, feeling inside it the comforting hard shape of a book and the even more comforting and soft shape of Mouse. The book was _Hogwarts: A History_ , and had been Aunt Hermione's last birthday present to James. Albus didn't think James had so much as opened it, although he'd penned such a charming thank-you letter that she'd sent him an extra book token, delighted with his enthusiasm. Stealing James' books was one thing for which Albus expected no retribution. He'd stuck a sheaf of Concealing Parchment over the dedication on the front page, and without that James would be most unlikely to spot his own book. Albus couldn't count the number of times James had seen his name on a book in Albus' room and punished him for it, only to remain completely oblivious when Albus was reading the same book the very next day.  
  
Mouse was another story. He'd been given to Albus as a christening present by his godmother, Minerva. He'd been tied up, drowned, set alight and held to ransom more often than a coven of heretics in sixteenth century Spain. That Albus dared to carry him around in his satchel was due to the fact that he'd begged Aunt Hermione to put a spell of protection and concealment on him. He'd told her it was because she knew the most spells of anyone in the family - sincere flattery got you everywhere with Aunt Hermione - which was only half a lie.  
  
The corridor outside was swarming with children with all ages. Albus felt himself shrink back involuntarily. Some of the boys were so tall they rivalled Teddy. The girls looked impossibly grown-up. In the five minutes Albus had lingered in the toilet every smaller student seemed to have been assimilated into a clique. He could see Rose in the distance, tossing her red curls and saying something about James to a group of round-eyed admirers. Rose and James had always been great pals, despite the age-gap. Albus had overheard James telling Rose just last week that he'd introduce her to all the right people once she was Sorted into Gryffindor, and maybe even let her in on the secrets of the Map. The Map was the biggest bone of contention between the Potter children, in a family that could have filled a graveyard with their bones of contention.  
  
Albus walked slowly down the corridor, surreptitiously peering into each compartment in the hopes of finding somewhere to sit. The first compartment was empty except for one boy. He was tow-headed, his hair scraped back with a star-spangled Alice band. He appeared to be singing to himself. Albus might have knocked were it not for the fact that the boy looked several years older than him, and James had warned him that the older kids wanted nothing to do with first-year squirts.  
  
He crossed two train carriages before he found another virtually unoccupied compartment. This far down the train it was much quieter. The students were all older, sitting in close groups and even pairings. Albus averted his eyes when he realised he'd accidentally spied on two people kissing. He was about to turn around and go back when he saw that the curtains on one compartment window, which had been drawn almost closed, were quivering as if shaken by a hidden hand. As he kept looking, a small and almost perfectly circular face peered out of the gap in the curtains.   
  
Albus stared at the face, and it stared back. Albus couldn't decide if it were a boy or a girl, because the curtains hid so much. He smiled encouragingly and the curtains snapped shut. Hurt at the rebuff, Albus turned away, just before the door scraped open.  
  
"What do you want?" a hoarse voice whispered.  
  
Albus turned around. The face was attached to a body, which relieved Albus immeasurably. The body was rotund and dressed in Muggle clothing. They looked like boy's clothes, but with Muggle stuff it was hard to tell.  
  
"I was just looking for a place to sit," he said.  
  
"Are you a first-year?" asked the boy.  
  
"Yes. Are you?"  
  
"Yes." The boy hesitated, chewing his lip. Albus watched in fascination. Everything about the boy brought to mind a cosseted sausage, especially his large pale lips, but Albus rather liked the look of him. For one thing, he didn't appear to be the sort of boy who'd turn people into slugs at the least provocation, which trait was infinitely attractive to Albus.  
  
Taking the initiative, Albus asked, "Could I sit in your carriage? Mouse and I won't take up much room, I promise."  
  
"Who's Mouse?" The boy was instantly on the defensive again, peering around Albus as if he were hiding an army of rodents behind his back.  
  
Albus smiled again. "Let me in and I'll show you."  
  
"All right," agreed the boy, so warily Albus had to wonder if there were a James in his family tree too.  
  
One of the seats in the carriage was almost swamped by a huge shiny bag. The boy shoved it aside and sat down, gesturing Albus to the opposite seat.  
  
"Why don't you put your bag up in the luggage rack?" suggested Albus.   
  
"Oh." The boy looked a little shame-faced. "I couldn't lift it, it's too heavy."  
  
"You can do magic on the train, you know," said Albus kindly.   
  
The boy looked even more uncomfortable, and increasingly like a chipolata. "I don't know any magic."  
  
"Well, lots of people don't." Albus parroted the party line, but he had his doubts. Unless the boy was the first in his whole family to be a wizard, he would be vastly outnumbered by people with some magical know-how. And if he was the first, why hadn't he read some of his books? "I'll do it for you." He took out his wand. It was fourteen inches - two more than James', to his absolute disgust - of cherrywood with a mermaid fin core. It still felt slick and strange in his hand, but Albus had been practising incantations since he could talk.  
  
"You'd better mind your head," he told the boy. "I don't know how great my aim is going to be."  
  
The boy scrambled to the other corner as Albus pointed his wand at the bag and said, as clearly as he could, " _Wingardium Leviosa_!"  
  
For a moment he thought he'd failed. Then the bag wriggled and began to rise, with one end leading the way. It crawled vertically through the air, creeping towards the luggage rack, and Albus was quite pleased with himself until -  
  
"The zip, I forgot to close the zip!" the boy was shrieking, as dozens of small objects showered down on them. Albus hastily yelled, " _Finite Incantem_!" The bag flopped back on to the seat, its contents spewed all over the floor and seats of the compartment.  
  
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," the boy was gabbling. Albus got to his knees and grabbed up handfuls of tiny packages. They looked vaguely familiar.  
  
"Hey, these are Muggle sweets, aren't they?" he said, delighted.  
  
"Yeah, my mum gave me loads for the train journey," said the boy. "Most of the bag was filled with sweets."  
  
"We'll have to pick them up by hand," said Albus. "I forget the spell for packing things away, and it's quite hard anyway - third-year level."  
  
"Wow, you know so much." The boy didn't sound admiring so much as thoroughly disheartened.  
  
"I have an older brother who's already at school here," said Albus, settling on this as the most tactful reply. Within a few minutes most of the sweets were retrieved and Albus had his lap filled with Smarties at the boy's insistence.  
  
"We probably should have done this at the beginning," he said indistinctly, "but my name's Albus Potter and I'm from Godric's Hollow, Oxfordshire. What about you?"  
  
The boy started. "Albus _Potter_? That means -"  
  
"Yeah, my dad's the one who owns the joke shops." Albus was used to this reaction by now. But the boy was shaking his head.  
  
"No," he said, "it means we're related."  
  
"We're related?" Albus stared at the boy in shock, studying him closely. He had short wavy brown hair, a pudgy nose and the remnants of a summer tan. "You don't look much like a Weasley."  
  
"That's 'cause I'm not," said the boy, who looked warier than ever. "I'm … a Dursley, from Little Whinging in Surrey."  
  
"A Dursley." The name rang a faint bell, but Albus could not for the life of him think why. "Was your mum a Weasley, then? Not - the accountant?"  
  
"My mother used to be a model, but her name was Crystal Starr, not Weasley," said the boy. "My uncle's an accountant, though."  
  
"That's so cool," said Albus, who had no idea what an accountant was, but had decided from the way it was spoken about in his family that it was something dreadfully sexy and rebellious. "But I don't see how you can be related to me if you're not a Weasley. Most of my mum's relatives are male."  
  
"What's your dad's name?" asked the boy.  
  
"Harry Potter," said Albus. The boy nodded.  
  
"Harry Potter is my dad's cousin. My grandmother Petunia was his aunt. Dad told me all about Harry Potter - he saved their lives." The boy held out his hand. "I'm Rambo Dursley. Pleased to meet you."  
  
+_+_+  
  
"It's just so strange that Dad never told me he had relatives still alive!" Albus was torn between delight at discovering this second cousin and confusion at his father's reticence.   
  
"Y'see, Dad and his parents had to go into this kind of witness protection scheme years and years ago," said Rambo. "Maybe they weren't _allowed_ to keep contact. The Ministry visited us a couple of times to tell us about your dad, but they wouldn't let on where he was. It was probably all covered up by the FBI and everything, like the alien landings at Roswell!"  
  
"What's the FBI?" asked Albus. As Rambo meandered through an explanation, Albus realised all his pity at Rambo's lack of magical knowledge had disappeared. Albus' only real contact with Muggles had been through Mr and Mrs Granger, who were a little senile and whose main interest in life was where their next cup of tea was coming from. Rambo had so much more to share, none of it so far appreciably tea-related.  
  
Rambo's segue into the X-Files and vampire-slayers ('- but you can't kill a vampire, that's considered murder, unless they attack you first -" "- wait, you mean there really are vampires? Oh my god -") was interrupted by a knock at the door. "Anything from the trolley, dears?" called a female voice.  
  
"I could do with some sandwiches," said Albus. He looked regretfully at the stacks of sweet papers littering his seats, reflecting that his grandmother's rants about the unwholesomeness of too many treats between meals were not entirely unfounded. "What about you?"  
  
"I'm fine," said Rambo, massaging his belly. Albus opened the door and fished his train money out of his satchel, bumping Mouse on the way. After he'd paid a Sickle for a pile of sandwiches the height of his head, he took out Mouse. At this point he was a little nervous. He was starting to like Rambo, and he didn't want him to think that having a toy mascot was too childish for people of eleven and nearly a half.  
  
"Hey," he said, "this is Mouse. I was telling you before..." He cupped Mouse in the palms of his hands and held them out.  
  
Rambo put down his sixteenth Yorkie and leaned forward. "Hello, Mouse," he said solemnly.  
  
Albus gently stroked the worn grey fur on Mouse's head. "Hello," said Mouse, in a voice that bore a great resemblance to Albus', but came unmistakably from Mouse.  
  
"Did you do that?" demanded Rambo. Albus laughed.  
  
"Sort of. You see, Mouse is magical too. My godmother charmed him to learn to say whatever I taught him. He can move, too - whenever I call him, he'll find me, no matter where he is."  
  
"He's awesome," said Rambo, patting Mouse's velvet paw.  
  
"Thank you," said Mouse, and Rambo laughed - a high, clear, childish laugh that Albus couldn't help joining in with.  
  
"There's someone I'd like Mouse to meet," said Rambo, a little shyly. He rummaged in his bag and withdrew a tattered soft toy in the shape of a whale. "This is Bruce. He can't talk or anything, but he's still really special."  
  
"Of course he is," said Albus, directing Mouse's paw to shake hands with Bruce's flipper. "And you know, once we start classes, we could probably enchant him to talk as well."  
  
"Really?" Rambo's face lit up. "That would be great."  
  
"Yeah, I know lots about the library. My Aunt Hermione -"  
  
"Oh Potter number two, where are you?" sing-songed a voice from outside. Albus froze. "Where's darling Ass?"  
  
"It's my brother," whispered Albus. "Quickly, put Bruce away. And shove your bag under the seat."  
  
"But why -"   
  
"Just do it!"  
  
"Maybe he's in ... this compartment!" James yanked back the sliding door with a triumphant flourish. "Ah, there you are, Ass. I was starting to think you'd fallen off the train. What a pity you didn't - I had a celebration all planned."  
  
"Go away, James," said Albus, not because he thought James would, but because it was the least inflammatory reply he could give. And worse things happened when you ignored James entirely.  
  
"And what's this?" crowed James, his eyes roving over Rambo's face. "Don't tell me - you Transfigured a dustmite into a pretend friend but got a pile of lard instead!"  
  
"Shut up!" yelled Albus, as Rambo turned a deep scarlet. "Don't insult my friend!"  
  
"Your friend?" James pretended to do a double take. "Then that isn't a fatcake I see before me -"  
  
"Oh, there you are, James." Rose appeared in the doorway, her curls artfully tousled. "I've been looking for you all over, Sarah Baddock wants to meet you."  
  
"I'm going to have to start charging entrance fees," said James with a grimace. "You know I want people to love me for my mind, not my body."  
  
"Trust me, their love isn't for either of those things," retorted Rose. Her gaze rested on Albus for a split second, and she deigned to acknowledge him with a tight little nod. "Are you coming?"  
  
"I just want to give my dear young brother some Sorting advice," said James. He slid further into the compartment in order to flick Albus right between the eyes. "Listen to me, Ass. If the Sorting Hat tries to suffocate you like it should, just let it, you hear?" He grinned. "What do you say?"  
  
"Thank you, James," intoned Albus.   
  
"James, come _on_." Rose tugged at her cousin's arm. "Didn't you want to say hello to little Scorpius?"  
  
"Oh yes," said James with relish. "Be seeing you, twitface."  
  
When they disappeared Albus waited a few minutes, then carefully checked the corridor. It was clear. He breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief.  
  
"That was your _brother_?" said Rambo.  
  
"Yes," said Albus, biting back the bitter retort that was souring on his tongue. He scooped Mouse out of his satchel and pressed him close under his folded arms.   
  
"What was he saying about a hat suffocating you?"  
  
"That's the Sorting Hat - don't worry, it's never suffocated anyone. Hogwarts has four Houses, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Slytherin and Ravenclaw, and the Hat chooses which one you'll be in."  
  
"Which one is the best?" asked Rambo eagerly.  
  
Albus stifled his instinctive reply, which was 'the one in which James isn't.' "Everyone has a different opinion on that," he said slowly. "You're supposed to have all these qualities that define the House that suits you best. But the Hat has never chosen wrongly and all the Houses are good in their own way."  
  
"Oh, that's all right then," said Rambo, applying himself to a Mars Bar with renewed vigour.  
  
Albus only wished he shared Rambo's happy ignorance.  
  
+_+_+  
  
Albus had told Rambo all about the boat trip to the castle, but the reality was far from what he'd expected. He was more than a little afraid: not of the Squid, whom he knew to be a harmless herbivore, but of the black depths of the lake and his own poor swimming skills. Rambo was lolling about complaining of lake-sickness and making the little craft rock alarmingly. The two girls sharing the boat with them looked like they didn't know whether to laugh or express sympathy, and settled for not saying anything at all. At another time Albus would have quite liked to make their acquaintance. They looked like twins, both with bottle-end glasses and serious expressions. However, his fear of imminent death distracted him too much for him to be properly social.  
  
As they crossed the vast Entrance Hall, Albus caught a glimpse of his cousin Rose in the midst of an adoring crowd. A lot of Uncle Ron's friends had children their age and who frequently visited them in London. Rose, whose father was the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic and whose mother was a tireless political campaigner, was the acknowledged queen of the young fry. Dad preferred solitude, and the other wizarding families in Godric's Hollow had children who were all much older than the Potters. Justine Bagshot, who was a fifth-year, had vaguely promised Mum that she'd 'look out for him' during the first few weeks, but that was as far as the friendships went.   
  
Rambo stuck close to Albus, his pale face and wide-open mouth and eyes making him look like an ghostly bowling ball. When a genuine ghost popped out of the skirting board to wave his be-plumed hat, Rambo gave a yelp and dived behind Albus. Albus recognised the ghost from James' description as Nearly Headless Nick, but he was too occupied in helping Rambo to his feet to come to Nick's attention. A plump friar smiled at him as he floated by and said, "All right there, son?"  
  
"Fine, thanks," said Albus. In a lower voice he said, "Don't be scared. Ghosts are normal and they can't hurt you."  
  
"What about him?" Rambo pointed a quaking finger at a grim-faced ghost covered in quicksilver bloodstains.   
  
"That must be the Bloody Baron. Just stay out of his way," advised Albus. He decided not to tell Rambo that the Bloody Baron was Slytherin House's ghost. He got the feeling Rambo would not be Sorted into Slytherin. For one thing, he seemed to have as much cunning as a tomato.  
  
Due to Rambo's diversion they were among the last to enter the Great Hall. As he trailed up between the tables Albus spotted many familiar faces, most notably his cousin Victoire and her younger sister Marie-Jeanette, who both gave him cheery waves. Rambo's eyes widened at the sight of them, and Albus decided that a brief history of Veelas could wait until another time. The Deputy Headmaster, Professor Longbottom, had already finished setting up the stool and Hat. He gave Albus the tiniest of winks.  
  
"All the first years, please line up," said Professor Longbottom. "Your names will be called in alphabetical order. When your House has been chosen, just follow the sound of cheering to the right table. Understood?"  
  
There was a soft chorus of 'yes's and 'yeah's. The Sorting Hat opened its brim and a few first-years gasped.  
  
"Children of Hogwarts," it said, "another year has passed and another crop has been harvested. As ever, it is my duty to Sort you into your respective Houses. It is a task I still fear is wrong, but I will do it all the same.  
  
"Gryffindor has the blazing fame,  
That follows fleet its famous name,  
People strong and brave and true,  
Wait here and ready to greet you.  
  
"Yet beware of what price is paid,  
By those who too proud are made.  
  
"Ravenclaw is the home of those  
In whose minds is worth enclosed,  
They have great wit and thirst to know  
In what soil the wisest heads can grow.  
  
"But take heed and remember all  
That pride does come before a fall.  
  
"Hufflepuff is home to friends  
Who will be yours until the end,  
Their loyalty never shadowed by doubt  
Fidelity never shall they flout.  
  
"It is best to recall, just in case,  
Some pride is more than friends can face.  
  
"Slytherin, the house of bad repute,  
Debates always the nature of the truth,  
Yet in the end these cunning few,  
Know always that their House is true.  
  
"Lest ye forget the tales of yore,  
Pride is what felled ye all before."  
  
"Thank you for those wise words," said Professor Longbottom gravely. "I hope you all took note. Now: Norma Abbott!"  
  
One of the girls who'd shared the boat with Albus and Rambo stepped forward. Almost instantly, the Hat declared her for Slytherin. The far right table exploded in cheers. Norma, looking extremely surprised, went to join her new House.  
  
"Titania Abbott!"  
  
The other girl stepped up to the stool. She looked stubborn before the Hat dropped over her face, and after about five minutes the Hat, sounding beleaguered, yelled, "Hufflepuff!"  
  
Albus knew he'd be near the end of the queue and prepared himself for a nerve-wracking wait. Before he knew it Rambo's name was called. Albus whispered 'Good luck,' and squeezed Rambo's freezing hand.  
  
The Hat named him a Hufflepuff, and Rambo sat down at the right hand table wreathed in smiles. Albus felt his heart sink.   
  
And then there were three: Albus, Rose and a thin, pale boy Albus hadn't seen before. This wasn't surprising, given how secluded Godric's Hollow was, but he was startled by the hostility emanating from Rose. Albus was so far beneath Rose's notice that he didn't merit hostility, so it was all directed at the boy. For his part, the boy either feigned not to notice or truly didn't, his eyes trained on the Hat.  
  
"Scorpius Malfoy!" called Professor Longbottom. A low muttering ran around the room. Scorpius shook himself, as if out of a daze, and sat down on the stool as regally as if it had been a throne.  
  
"Slytherin," said the Hat, in a laughing voice. Scorpius seemed to deflate, his face the picture of relief as he stalked away to his table.  
  
"Albus Potter!"  
  
Although he knew what to do, Albus' hands still shook as he pulled the hat brim down over his eyes. The velvety darkness inside was welcoming.  
  
"A Potter, eh?" said the Hat. Albus jumped. No one had ever said anything about the Hat holding private conversations. "A most unusual breed, the Potters. Not like the Weasleys, although you have a lot of Weasley in you. Hmm, this is rather tricky. Intelligent enough for Ravenclaw, sneaky enough for Slytherin, brave enough for Gryffindor -"  
  
"Not Gryffindor," whispered Albus, "please."  
  
"Whyever not?" The Hat sounded genuinely surprised. Albus gummed his lips together. He couldn't do much about the Hat reading his mind, but not for worlds would he talk disparagingly about his family to a complete stranger.   
  
"Ah-ahh," said the Hat. "You have many fine qualities in small portions, like most people, but the one that stands out the most strongly is loyalty. Loyalty and fairness. Maybe you'll grow up to be the first just Potter, eh? I can't pass up a chance like that. I say you are a -"  
  
Albus could see a gleam of light as the Hat slid upwards.  
  
"HUFFLEPUFF!"  
  
It was a good thing Albus already knew where his table was, because the hall had gone utterly silent. Not one clap or cheer guided Albus on his way.


	2. Chapter 2

_For this soul needs to be honoured with a new dress woven  
From green and blue things and arguments that cannot be proven._  
(Patrick Kavanagh)  
  
  
The cheer for Rose when she was Sorted into Gryffindor was everything Albus' hadn't been: loud, welcoming and _there_. But most of the Hufflepuffs were sending him glances laden with quiet sympathy, except for the few who were already staring at their plates with tangible anticipation.  
  
Rambo's shoulder nudging his roused Albus out of his stupor. "I'm glad you're in the same House as me," whispered Rambo.  
  
"I'm glad too," said Albus, taken aback to realise that it wasn't remotely untrue. Down the table from him, Titania Abbott winked ferociously before ladling out the biggest portion of mashed potatoes Albus had ever seen on one spoon. The two other first year Hufflepuff boys were seated across from him, and took a moment out of their caballing to wave hello. The table was too wide and too laden with delicious food to make general conversation possible or even desirable, but Albus felt that despite the ominous silence following his Sorting, he was not in the least bit unwelcome here.  
  
Albus couldn't bring himself to eat or talk much, even to Rambo, whose gasps of wonder came at regular five second intervals. He was glad when the feast was over, but also nervous about his immediate future. Almost everyone he knew or was related to was a Gryffindor; all their tales of school life revolved around the red and gold Gryffindor Tower. Albus didn't even know where the Hufflepuff common rooms were located. He felt a swoop of apprehension in his stomach.  
  
As soon as the last plate had been cleared, the prefects began marshalling their troops. The boy with the Alice band turned out to be the Hufflepuff prefect in charge of first-years. Instead of talking, he stood up and pressed his badge. It immediately glowed blue and began to whistle. Rambo laughed.  
  
Albus followed the boy out of the Hall, with the less savvy first years trailing behind him. Once they were clear of the noise and bustle, the boy spoke. He had a soft, lilting voice, and Albus immediately understood why he hadn't tried to yell for their attention: the boy would have had difficulty being heard in a library.  
  
"My name is Morse Lovegood," he said. "I'm one of your prefects, which means I'm the person you go to when you have any questions or concerns."  
  
"I have a question," piped up one of the boys. "Where's the lavatory?"  
  
"There's one behind that tapestry of Wendelin the Weird," said Morse, "but I wouldn't go there unless I had to. Whoever decorated it charmed the tiles to talk, and they're not very complimentary. If you can hold it, our quarters aren't far."  
  
The boy considered this. "I guess I can hold it."  
  
"I'm glad to hear it," said Morse, without the slightest hint of sarcasm. He turned to lead them on, and Albus had to suppress a gasp. One side of Morse's face was mottled with blotchy discolourations. They traced a pattern under his chin and beneath his short ponytail. Albus knew it wasn't polite to ask about scars, so he didn't, but the lavatory boy had no such scruples.  
  
"What happened to your neck?" he asked, ogling.  
  
"Oh, I see you've noticed," said Morse. "I was born that way. My mother experimented with a lot of potions when she was pregnant, so I think I got confused as to which colour I was supposed to be."  
  
"What do you mean? People are only one colour, aren't they?" pressed the boy. Albus shared a look of distaste with Rambo.  
  
"Yes, they are." An infinity of patience engulfed Morse's words. "But my father has black skin, and my mother has white, and I think they got into a bit of a fight when it came to me."  
  
The boy opened his mouth to speak again, but Albus jumped in. "Morse, can you tell us the password, please?"  
  
"Albus Potter, isn't it?" Morse smiled for the first time. "You probably know more about Hogwarts than I do. The password for the moment is favourite food."  
  
"'Favourite food,'" repeated Albus.  
  
"No, the password isn't the _words_ 'favourite food,'" said Morse. "You have to reveal your favourite food to be granted entrance. You all better start thinking what your favourite food is, because if Moley thinks you're lying you won't get in."  
  
Silence fell on the little group as they all began thinking hard. Morse sauntered ahead of them, hands in pockets. People passed them in small groups, most wearing yellow scarves or hair clips. They all saluted Morse, who nodded back and said, "How's it going?" He didn't seem to expect answers, which was fortunate, as he didn't get any.  
  
Albus' nostrils were teased by tantalising odours, and his suspicions were confirmed when Morse told them: "We're getting close. You can smell the kitchens nearly everywhere in Hufflepuff Wing, which is fine except when the house elves are cutting up five thousand onions. Rumour has it Helga Hufflepuff loved midnight snacks, which is why she claimed this part of the castle for her House."  
  
"I'm glad she did," said Rambo, who was visibly salivating.   
  
"Have you picked a favourite food yet?" asked Albus in an undertone.  
  
"I can't possibly choose just one!" groaned Rambo. Albus grinned.  
  
Turning a corner brought them up against an alcove in which stood a huge rearing badger. It topped Albus by two or three heads; Morse could just about look it in the beady eye.  
  
"This is Moley the badger," said Morse. "In case you hadn't noticed, the badger is our House's mascot. Now, watch closely: you have to rub Moley's belly in just the right way to get him to speak." He reached down and patted the lifelike tuft of fur midway between Moley's jaw and lower legs. There was a grating noise as Moley's mouth opened.  
  
"Password?" he rasped.  
  
"Grass-flavoured Every Flavour Beans," said Morse.   
  
"Very well," said Moley. The plinth on which he stood slid forward, revealing a worn velvet curtain the colour of old gold.   
  
Morse swept back the curtain. "Youngest first."  
  
Albus stepped through the curtain after Rambo and let out a long breath of delight. The common room was large and square. Fires blazed in two marble hearths at either end of the room, around which were grouped squashy armchairs festooned with yellow cushions and soft black throws. A long table ran the length of the room. Although empty now, it bore the scratches, glue-spills and ink splatters of heavy use. Each of the walls was hung with huge noticeboards, numbering seven in total. All but one was covered with photographs - Muggle and wizarding - drawings, notices, dried flowers and greenery, and odds and ends. Albus stepped closer to the noticeboard nearest him to read the plaque above it. It read 'Seventh Year' in fancy curlicued handwriting, purple against a green background.  
  
"Those are the class boards," said Morse from behind him. "Each plaque was designed by the year in question, and we keep the old ones in the cabinet over there. Some of them are incredible. As each class moves up a year, so do the class boards."  
  
"These are great!" Laughter bubbled out of Albus as he noticed a long written conversation between 'the V-man' and 'Firefly' on the seventh-year board. It appeared to have been going on for years, and incorporated good-natured insults as well as jokes about teachers and other students. Albus' eyes widened as he caught a reference to James: 'The first of the Potter clan has his head stuck so far up his own arse that it's surprising he can see daylight. - Firefly. Yes, absolute fame corrupts absolutely. - the V-man.'  
  
"Watch out for those two," said Morse, although he sounded amused. "They translate 'loyalty to Hufflepuff' as 'an excuse to butcher the reputations of every other House.' Don't take it personally."  
  
"Believe me, I don't," Albus assured him.   
  
While they were speaking, the other first-years had formed a tightly huddled nucleus of fearful wonder. The older students, sitting in armchairs and at the table or discussing the noticeboards, regarded them with fond superiority. All were smiling and cheerful, and Albus' attempt to identify the V-man and Firefly failed miserably.  
  
"This is Rhianna Pratchett," said Morse, gesturing at a short girl with black hair and acres of costume jewellery. "She's the other fifth-year prefect, and she'll be showing the girls where to sleep. Boys follow me, please."  
  
As Rhianna shepherded the girls away, Albus caught sight of Titania gesturing frantically over her shoulder. He frowned, trying to decipher her hand signals. At last he realised she was mouthing, "Meet me back here!"  
  
Albus shrugged and nodded. He knew curfew was stringently enforced for first-years in Gryffindor, but perhaps Hufflepuff was more relaxed. All the signs seemed to be pointing that way.  
  
He was as delighted with the dormitory as he'd been with the common room. Because there were only four boys in Hufflepuff the beds were far larger and the room more spacious than he'd anticipated. The two other boys claimed the window beds. Albus, who knew a considerable amount about the ice-forming properties of centuries-old, single-glazed windows, wasn't about to object.  
  
When they'd inspected their trunks and pulled out their pyjamas, Albus crossed the room and held out his hand to the lavatory boy's other half. "I'm Albus Potter. What's your name?"  
  
"Conan Gilligan." Conan sounded subdued, in direct contrast to his friend, who was bouncing on the bed.  
  
"I'm Rambo Dursley," said Rambo.   
  
"Are you _serious_?" sniggered the other boy. "Do you parents really hate you or something?"  
  
Rambo blushed. "No. My dad just loves Rambo, that's all."  
  
"Huh." The boy bounced off the bed and on to the floor, making a godawful thump and nearly knocking Rambo over. "I'm Eoghan O'Neill. Conan there is my half-brother."  
  
"We think," said Conan.  
  
"Oh, come _on._ " Eoghan rolled his eyes. "We are, just accept it, Conan."  
  
"You do look awfully alike," remarked Albus. Although Conan had reddish-brown hair and Eoghan dusty blonde, they shared the same sharp nose and determined chin.   
  
"We were both so surprised when the letters came," continued Eoghan. "No one else in our village was even a bit magical. That's when our mams told us our dads weren't really our dads. Well, mine did. Conan's mother doesn't have a husband."  
  
"So? Lots of people's mothers don't," retorted Albus. Conan looked on the point of tears, and to distract Eoghan Albus observed, "You don't sound English."  
  
"Thank God," said Eoghan. "We're Irish, from Kerry. We had to catch the ferry over in the middle of the most enormous storm. The Great Lake was a doddle compared to that! And Conan was seasick four times."  
  
" _You_ were seasick three," said Conan.  
  
"And we made a solemn blood pact to try and stick together, even if we were put in Slytherin." Eoghan crossed himself devoutly, as if to ward off evil.  
  
"What's wrong with Slytherin?" Albus narrowed his eyes. Eoghan hadn't been in the castle five minutes before he was spouting anti-Slytherin sentiments. He sounded like Uncle Ron, except Uncle Ron had an excuse and from all Albus could see, Eoghan had none at all. Eoghan was certainly loyal, but Albus was starting to see that 'loyal' wasn't a synonym for 'nice,' any more than 'brave' was.  
  
"It's, like, _the_ worst house there is. Fancy you not knowing that." Eoghan tossed his head. "This boy, James, invited us into his compartment and told us all about it. No Hat was gonna put _me_ in the bad House!"  
  
"How lucky for the Slytherins," said Albus under his breath. He grabbed Rambo's arm. "We have to go get something from the common room."  
  
"We do?" Rambo let himself be tugged along. "Albus, we do?"  
  
"Titania Abbott said to meet her there," explained Albus. "Besides, if I spend any longer with that git I'll end up hexing him, and I don't want a detention on my very first day. My Dad would _kill_ me."  
  
+_+_+  
  
Albus followed the minute hand of his watch as it rotated slowly around the clockface, illuminated by a slice of moonlight. As it quivered into place on twelve, atop the big hand, he thrust back the covers and gently touched his socked feet to the floor. He thought about finding his slippers, but they were still in his trunk and rummaging for them would make too much noise.  
  
He tiptoed to the opposite bed, where Rambo was slumbering with gunshot snores. Despite his half-dead appearance, Rambo awoke instantly when Albus shook his arm.   
  
"Are you still sure you want to do this?" whispered Albus.  
  
"Of course!" Rambo rolled out of bed. "Exploring a haunted castle at night is _exactly_ what Sylvester Stallone would do."  
  
"Well, if you're sure," said Albus, who wondered why Sylvester Stallone wasn't mentioned in his book, _100 Greatest Exorcists of the 20th Century_.  
  
Fortunately the little winding staircase leading to their dormitory was hewn from stone, and they traversed it noiselessly. The common room was shrouded in shadow, except for two points of light where the embers in the fireplaces still smouldered. A head peeked over one of the armchairs as they creaked on to the floorboards.  
  
"Hi," said Titania, in a soft but still speaking voice.  
  
"Why aren't you whispering?" whispered Albus.  
  
"Because it carries further." Titania rose out of the chair, a majestic figure in spite being swaddled by a terry-towelling dressing gown. Her eyes gleamed behind her thick glasses. "The other two boys aren't coming?"  
  
Albus looked at Rambo, who shrugged. "We didn't ask them," said Albus.   
  
"Fair enough," said Titania. " _Lumos_!" A bead of light lit up the end of her wand. Albus repeated the spell and his light-ball flared into being, slightly larger than Titania's.  
  
"You have a go," said Albus encouragingly to Rambo. "Just say the spell, and think about light as hard as you can."  
  
" _Lumos_ ," quavered Rambo, gripping his wand in both hands. The resulting burst of light outshone Albus' and Titania's put together.  
  
"Cool," said Titania. "Let's roll, homies."  
  
"What?" said Albus, as Rambo said, "Right on, sister."  
  
They crept out beyond the curtain, doing their best not to rouse Moley. The kitchen scent grew stronger the further they travelled.   
  
"How do you know she'll be able to find her way?" asked Albus. Rambo was busy peering at the cold sconces, saying 'Wicked' a lot.  
  
"We Abbotts have an excellent sense of smell," said Titania smugly. "And we're still on the ground floor. Everyone knows the Slytherin rooms are in the dungeons, so they can't be that far away. If worst comes to worst, we'll ask the house elves."  
  
There was no need, for as they came within smelling distance of what had to be the main kitchen entrance - although all Albus could see was a lurid still-life of a basket of fruit - they spied Norma Abbott waiting for them. She was not alone.  
  
"Ma!"   
  
"Ti!"  
  
Titania ran to Norma and gave her a hug. Norma returned it with one arm; her other hand was occupied in holding Scorpius Malfoy's ear in a tight pinch. Albus stared.  
  
"What on earth happened, Norma?" asked Titania.  
  
"I don't know." Norma shrugged. "I got the feeling the Hat could see all those tricks we got up to - the ones I always came up with and you joined in with? I'm sorry, Ti! I thought our twinny bond would be enough. Can you live with a Slytherin for a twin?"  
  
"Don't be an idiot." Titania punched her sister on the arm. "I don't care which other House you got Sorted into, only that it wasn't mine! I tried to tell the Hat to put me with you, but it just laughed."  
  
"We'll hardly ever get to see each other now," lamented Norma.  
  
"Slytherin and Hufflepuff share classes this year," offered Albus. "You'll have all those."  
  
"I didn't realise! Fabbo." Norma's face brightened.  
  
"How on earth do you know that?" Scorpius Malfoy spoke for the first time. His voice was as haughty and refined as his appearance suggested, but he sounded curious rather than hostile.  
  
"My dad's friends with Professor Longbottom," said Albus. He felt a little guilty about that connection, although it had nothing to do with him.  
  
"Well, it's something, at least." Titania peered closely at Scorpius. "I said you could bring back-up, Ma, not prisoners."  
  
"He tried to stop me sneaking out," said Norma. "What was I supposed to do, leave him behind to squeal on me?"  
  
"As I've been trying to tell you the whole way here," said Scorpius, with as much dignity as a boy could must while fruitlessly trying to free himself from the captivity of a little girl, "I was not going to dob you in. I thought it was strange to wander the castle in the middle of the night, that's all. You could have just said you were meeting your sister."  
  
"Well, I'm a Slytherin now," said Norma. "We're supposed to be sneaky."  
  
Scorpius muttered something about Norma interpreting House ethics entirely wrong, but only Albus was listening. He noticed Scorpius' eyes were slightly pink.  
  
"Norma, before I forget, this is Rambo Dursley and Albus Potter," said Titania. "I'm considering moulding them into my new partners in crime. What do you think?"  
  
"I think they can't be worse than this pathetic specimen," said Norma, tugging Scorpius' ear. Scorpius winced.  
  
"You could probably let him go now," suggested Albus. A look of relief flitted briefly across Scorpius' face. "He'll be in as much trouble as us if we get caught."  
  
"You never spoke a truer word, Potter."   
  
A figure stepped out of the shadows. Albus watched the other four blanch. He gulped as the figure bore down on him.   
  
"Penwyn Jones," said the boy, smiling alarmingly. "Seventh-year prefect, Hufflepuff. I'm doing rounds. What's your excuse for being out of bed? Because, unless it's a good one, you're all booked for breaking curfew." Penwyn squinted at Scorpius. "And inter-house consorting, oh my!" He turned his piercing gaze back on to Albus. "Well?"  
  
"Er, um ..." Albus racked his brain. He didn't think Penwyn was going to buy any excuse he came up with, but if Albus knew anything about intimidation tactics, he had to try. "Midnight snack?"  
  
Penwyn raised his eyebrows. "Close, but no cigar. You two snakes get back to your prison cells. The rest of you, come with me. You've got a long day ahead of you ... and as I happen to know Brown's taking detention tomorrow night, you've just made it even longer."  
  
+_+_+  
  
The main memory Albus carried of his first day in Hogwarts revolved around the nasty head cold that dogged him from the moment he awoke. He'd felt chilled getting into bed, the cold in his feet rising steadily throughout the night. Come morning he was sniffling in a manner guaranteed to enrage all but the sickliest of companions. He knew better than to play around with his health, fragile as it was; but it wasn't until classes were over that he had a chance to visit the infirmary. By then the cold was well-established.  
  
Albus was annoyed with himself, both for not knowing better than to walk around cold floors at night in his socks, and for not being able to fully enjoy his first classes. They'd had Defence Against the Dark Arts with Professor Bones and Double Herbology with Professor Longbottom.   
  
They'd spent the first Defence class learning and perfecting the disarming spell. "It looks simple, and relatively unimportant," said Professor Bones, "but it has been the saviour of many lives in battle. But you'll be hearing all about that from Professsor Binns in History of Magic, I'm sure."  
  
Rambo's _Expelliarmus!_ had sent Albus' wand flying on his first attempt, but he was not at home among the mud and plants of the greenhouse. He particularly disliked the sentient nature of the Curling Passionberry shrubs they were working on. He shook off the creeping tendrils every time they so much as touched him, which meant his repotting wasn't half finished by the end of the class. Albus was bemused by Rambo's behaviour, as he himself was content to let the Passionberries wind their soft stems around his arms as far as the elbow. Albus wasn't incredibly fond of dirt, but he wasn't anywhere near as fastidious as Rambo. It was while Rambo marched off in search of a bathroom to thoroughly scour his hands that Albus slipped away to the infirmary.  
  
Madam MacDougal was the school nurse, a hard-faced woman with a kind manner. "Yes, your mother sent me your medical file by owl before you'd even arrived," she said. "You were right to come to me. The last thing you need is to develop a lingering cold or 'flu. Your immune system just isn't up to it yet." She dosed him with some horrible Pepper-Up Potion, which unfortunately was not the worst medicine Albus had ever tasted, and sent him off steaming at the ears. He had to come back the next day for more. He knew as well as Madam MacDougal that one dose wouldn't be enough to shake this cold.  
  
All too sooner dinner was over. As Penwyn predicted, it had been a long day, and Albus wished for nothing more than an hour spent dozing in front of the common room fire before bed. Instead, he, Rambo and Titania had to find their way to Professor Brown's classroom in order to take their detention. The Divination Tower was supremely difficult to find, located as it was in a far distant and mainly unused part of the castle. By the time they got there, they were not only thoroughly hot and flustered, they were late.  
  
Norma and Scorpius were already inside the classroom, sitting uncomfortably on purple pouffes. Titania raced to her twin, or tried to; she was hampered by an obstacle course of pointless tables and fringed stools. "How did you get here so fast?" she demanded.  
  
"We followed Professor Brown after dinner, of course." Norma preened, and Titania hit her on the shoulder. From the look on Scorpius' face, it had been his idea. Albus chose the pouffe just behind Scorpius', and Rambo plumped himself into a purple and gold armchair.  
  
Albus wasn't quite sure what to say to Scorpius; 'sorry' seemed appropriate, if misplaced, and 'hello' was a little late. Scorpius looked tired, but not as if he'd been crying. Norma wasn't the kind of girl on whose shoulder you _could_ cry, if Albus could correctly judge her from a day's acquaintance. Scorpius had sat next to Norma in every class so far.  
  
In the end he vacillated too long, and by the time the round door at the far end of the class room swung dramatically open, Albus and Scorpius hadn't exchanged a word. Rambo had been examining a crystal ball, which he dropped with a dull thud as a spooky figure advanced into the classroom. Despite her trailing diaphanous veils, she found a path through the wilderness of furniture with the ease of long practice.  
  
"Good evening, children," she said mournfully, adjusting the circlet of moonstones around her head. "I understand you are here to take detention with me?"  
  
"That's right, Professor," said Albus, when no one else appeared prepared to answer.  
  
Professor Brown heaved a tragic sigh. "I was just in commune with the Great Spirit," she informed them. "I have begged to be excused - evenfall is my most astrally open time - and Uranus is bright tonight - but always, always they refuse."  
  
"If it's too much trouble, we could just leave," Norma suggested helpfully. Professor Brown's glowered at her, a fact which was not hidden by the blue silk half-veil covering her eyes.  
  
"Don't be ridiculous, child," she snapped. "Crystal balls always need polishing, do they not? Tarot cards must be reshuffled, teacups cleaned - do they not, do they not?"  
  
Norma shrugged.   
  
"I see you've already begun," said Professor Brown, waving a thin hand at Rambo's dropped crystal ball. "But what possessed you to sit in my chair, child?" She pronounced 'child' like 'venomous tarantula.'  
  
"I didn't know," mumbled Rambo, sliding on to a pouffe with his face blazing.  
  
"Since you are so fond of my balls," said Professor Brown, to a stifled snigger from Titania, "you may clean them." She waved her wand, and a very un-mystical bucket of rags and polish appeared at Rambo's feet. "The three shelves over there need doing. Since you find this so amusing," to Titania, "you may mend my torn Tarot cards by hand." Another wind-whistling snap of the wand, and a pot of glue and a brush dropped into Titania's lap. "You'd better clean out my cupboards, girl -" Norma stiffened "- I'm afraid there's still some cheese left over from last year's tiromancy seminar."  
  
A large wooden scrubbing brush and a bar of soap fell on Norma's foot, and she yelped in pain.  
  
"Hmm, as for you two..." Professor Brown's eyes roved over Albus' and Scorpius' faces "... you can wash out the teacups. Come, I'll show you the sink."  
  
Albus had hoped this was being let off easy - until he saw the cups. There were three heaps of them, one beside the sink, one in the sink and one on the floor. The tea leaves had congealed at the bottom of the cups, forming a glutinous, unpleasant mess.   
  
Professor Brown aimed her wand at the sink, and the cups within were instantly submerged in purple-tinged soap suds. A dishcloth fluttered into Scorpius' hands.   
  
"Pray don't make more noise and mess than absolutely necessary," said Professor Brown. It occurred to Albus that judging by the number of cups, the teacher had also had a long day and wanted nothing more than a little peace and quiet. In the harsh light of the pantry he could also see the three raised, ugly scars on Professor Brown's cheek.  
  
"We won't, I promise," said Albus. Professor Brown looked surprised.  
  
"Get along, then," she said and drifted off, leaving behind a faint odour of lavender.  
  
Albus plunged his hands into the sink with an almighty splash, but it was Scorpius who truly broke the silence. "She looked like she got mauled by a werewolf," he said. "No wonder she's so bitter."  
  
"Accidents happen, you just have to make the best of it." Albus shrugged and placed a cup on the draining board. Scorpius picked it up and began to dry it, his awkward movements betraying his slim familiarity with such a task.  
  
"Is that water boiling?"  
  
"No, it's just nice - here." Albus reached out for Scorpius' hand and dunked it in the water. The violet bubbles tickled them both. Scorpius' expression changed from indignant to intrigued in the blink of an eye. He splashed the water at Albus, drenching his sleeve, and Albus did the same back before remembering his promise to Professor Brown.  
  
"We can't make too much noise," he said regretfully.  
  
"I didn't take you for a teacher's pet," snorted Scorpius. Albus was disappointed by the scorn in Scorpius' voice. He shifted away from him.  
  
"I'm not trying to suck up to her," he said. "But she's a person too, and she's tired, and we should respect that."  
  
"Huh," said Scorpius, although it could have been 'oh.' They worked in silence through the first batch of cups. Albus was hurt by Scorpius' dismissal of him, but he hated conflict and wanted more than anything to gloss over the incident. He was concentrating so hard on figuring out how that he barely heard it when at last Scorpius spoke.  
  
"Hey, what did you think of ... the classes today?"  
  
His face was blank, but his mouth betrayed him. Albus accepted the unspoken apology.  
  
"They were great," he said. "I've been so busy I haven't even had a chance to be homesick."  
  
"Oh -" said Scorpius "- haven't you?" and Albus remembered that he'd been up, alone, in the common room in the middle of the night. It was then he knew it was going to be all right.  
  
"Nope, but I will be," he said frankly. "I miss home something rotten."  
  
"Me too," said Scorpius in a soft voice.  
  
It was nearing midnight once more when they finished washing all the cups. In the classroom, Norma was lying on her stomach, making half-hearted swipes at an open cupboard. Titania was painting her fingernails with glue in between mammoth yawns. Only Rambo was devoted to his task, rubbing the crystal balls with such effort his face sported a similar sheen.  
  
"When can we leave?" asked Scorpius, while Albus sank on to a pouffe. He felt drained and slightly nauseous. His body told him he should have been in bed hours ago, sleeping off the worst of his cold.   
  
"Whenever our task is done," said Norma, mimicking Brown's sob-filled voice perfectly. "She came in about an hour ago and said that."  
  
"Our task is done," said Albus.  
  
"Mine is too." Norma abandoned the scrubbing brush and with it her veneer of exhaustion. "Let me tell you, if I _had_ found any cheese I would have died from the excitement. Is there anything more boring than cleaning empty cupboards?"  
  
"Try gluing these stupid fiddly things together," yawned Titania. "I swear she went and ripped them up her own self. How else would Tarot cards get this mangled?"  
  
"Hey, Rambo, you finished?" said Albus. "Rambo!"  
  
"Huh?" Rambo looked up. "These things are ace. You know I've been seeing all sorts of things?"  
  
"Really?" Albus sat forward, impressed. Norma, far less so, called over, "Yeah, his own face!"  
  
"Just shadows and stuff," said Rambo. "And one or two people."  
  
"You have'ta learn to recognise your own reflection, mate." Titania popped the cap on the pot of glue. "I don't know about anyone else, but I feel like splitting. Who's with me?"  
  
Titania saluted, Scorpius and Albus raised their weary arms and, after a moment's reluctance, Rambo nodded.  
  
It took them half an hour to find their way back to the Great Hall, lumbered as they were with a poor sense of direction enhanced by tiredness. Titania and Norma exchanged mock-tearful farewells and the three boys nodded at each other, but there was nothing false about Titania's parting wish: "If only there were some place we could meet up properly, 'cause it's not like we can visit each other's common rooms."  
  
"I'd be down with that," said Rambo eagerly.  
  
Scorpius and Albus opened their mouths at the same time, caught each other's eyes and smiled.   
  
"My dad," started Scorpius.  
  
"Knows this place," finished Albus.


	3. Chapter 3

_Hope’ is the thing with feathers –  
That perches in the soul –  
And sings the tune without the words –  
And never stops – at all –_  
(Emily Dickinson)  
  
Rain splattered the windows of the Clubhouse. The skies outside were dark and ominous, but inside all was cozy and gold-limned. Rambo lay in front of the fire, checking over his homework with the aid of an enormous Oxford Dictionary of Magic propped at his elbow. Albus and Titania, who took far less pains with their essays and didn't consider it vital to look up every word they didn't know, were curled up in two hammocks. Both were absorbed in _The Dragon's Gullet_. They'd got up at six am to check it of the fiction section of the library before the rest of the school. VD Wallflower was the author of a phenomenally successful series of adventure books, of which _The Dragon's Gullet_ was the latest instalment. Everyone was clamouring for it; the ten copies in the Hogwarts library were pre-booked for the next six weeks.  
  
"Have you ever heard of the _Sectumsempra_ spell?" asked Rambo. Spare quills were stuck in his hair like an Indian headdress.  
  
"Nope," murmured Albus, barely registering the question.  
  
"I think it's used for cleaning toilets," put in Titania. She tossed aside her book. "I have to take a break, my eyes are stinging like crazy."  
  
Albus didn't answer. His eyes whizzed along the text, trekking through a rainforest with the hero Berto Blastnoggin and his faithful companion, the dog Concorde.   
  
"If you're finished, you'd better return it for the next people," said Rambo, frowning as he scratched out a sentence. "I can't find a reference for this spell anywhere, but it's clearly mentioned in the list of magic used in the last Great War."  
  
"That's probably because it was used by the Death Eaters," said Titania. "Did anyone bring food?"  
  
Rambo pointed at a plate of doughnuts with an ink-stained finger. Titania fell upon them like it hadn't been an hour since dinner, at which she'd had three servings of shepherd's pie.  
  
Albus snuggled deeper into his hammock, relishing the smell of frayed binder twine and old pillows. Very soon they'd have to go back to their common room, but for now Albus was making the most of his freedom.  
  
There was a faint scratching from outside the Clubhouse. A moment later, the plank door swung inwards and Scorpius stepped through. He too had a copy of _The Dragon's Gullet_ , but it lacked the shine of a Dust Repelling Enchantment. Albus was distracted by the sight. He knew Scorpius hadn't been one of the early-rising few who'd secured the first loan of the book from the library.  
  
"Where'd you get that, Scorpius?" he asked. Scorpius seemed confused for a minute, as if he wasn't carrying anything out of the ordinary.  
  
"Oh, this?" he said, holding up the book. "My mother sent it to me this morning."  
  
"Wow, she must have been queuing at Flourish's for ages." Albus was impressed.  
  
"Yeah, I guess," said Scorpius vaguely. He tossed the book on to a shelf. "Norma couldn't come," he told Titania. "She's serving detention for making apple pie beds in all the second year dormitories. Something about her toad being hexed by Speranza Zabini?"  
  
"Is that all?" Titania sounded disappointed. "She's off her game. We've been doing that since we were five."  
  
"Maybe she's sticking to the traditional approach." Scorpius swung into the hammock with Albus, who budged up to make room. Now that Scorpius was here his interest in _The Dragon's Gullet_ abated somewhat. Scorpius had a way of looking at people that suggested he was amused by a joke only he could see, and Albus was always hopeful that Scorpius would tell him what it was.  
  
"How long till curfew?" he asked Scorpius, who was the only one with a working watch. The twins' parents hadn't trusted them with even that much raw machinery, Rambo's digital one had stopped working as they crossed the Lake the first night, and Albus had accidentally left his on when they took swimming lessons for Defence Against the Dark Arts.   
  
"Half an hour," replied Scorpius. He set the hammock to rocking with his foot and gazed around the Clubhouse.  
  
Albus followed his example. Nearly two months had passed since they'd established it. The walls were made of hewn logs and the two windows, overlooking the courtyards, had frames heavily carved with ivy. Tiny faces peeped out from between the leaves. The rough floor was covered over with jolly braided mats, in all colours and shapes: red and blue stars, green and orange circles, ruffled pink squares. A fire burned merrily at all times inside a ring of large, flat stones. There were two hammocks stuffed with pillows and a couple of canvas chairs.   
  
Sometimes Albus entertained himself by trying to guess which elements of the Clubhouse belonged to which Club members. Dad had been vague about the properties of the special room, but he had said it took into account what people wanted or needed from it. Albus liked the window frames best, but he knew he couldn't claim them: they were too obviously Scorpius'. When they were occasionally paired up in Potions Albus had seen the way all of Scorpius' notebooks were fantastically decorated with ink drawings, each incredibly elaborate and detailed. He'd even cajoled Scorpius into illustrating a bookmark for him and although he'd scowled about it, Albus thought a hidden part of Scorpius appreciated the attention.  
  
As yet the Club didn't have an official title. They couldn't agree on one, although this was not for lack of trying. Titania and Norma were as one mind on their suggestions, Rambo backed up Albus, and both factions needed Scorpius' support. As yet he'd declined to bestow it on either, laughing off their ideas as stupid, wrong, or both. The Club was the Club for now, and looked set to remain the Club until the end of time.  
  
Titania, refreshed by a doughnut or three, settled back down with her book. Rambo was running his finger along every entry column under 'S', frowning. Albus laid his cheek against a pillow, too mellow to open _The Dragon's Gullet_ again. It was too exciting to mix with a mood like this.  
  
"Looking forward to the Halloween feast?" asked Scorpius.  
  
"Yeah," said Albus. He hesitated for a moment. "My birthday's the next day. I might be getting a pet."  
  
"What kind?" Scorpius' cool, dark blue eyes were narrowed, but he kept them that way all the time.   
  
"I don't know. Whatever my parents approve of, I guess," said Albus. "My mother promised that if I didn't ... if I kept out of trouble the first term, she'd allow me to get an animal for my birthday."  
  
"But you've already reneged on that," Scorpius pointed out. "Serving two detentions doesn't count as keeping out of trouble in most people's books."  
  
Albus blushed. "That wasn't - I mean, James got detention too, so it doesn't really matter. They were madder at him than me that time."  
  
"Yes, discovering unexpected cousins always comes as such a shock," said Scorpius dryly. "It's not as if half the wizarding world was related to the other half or anything."  
  
"That's what I meant." Albus stared into the flickering firelight, feeling his eyelids grow heavy. He flexed his fingers on the spine of _The Dragon's Gullet_ so he wouldn't let it slip off his lap.   
  
"Is there a reason why you didn't get an animal when you started school?"   
  
"Kind of," said Albus. Scorpius' tawny owl and James' brindled one had already got into a number of spats in the Owlery, so it wasn't like Albus could plead a parental blanket ban on pets. It was a good thing Scorpius didn't know about Lily's army of guinea pigs or he'd be even more suspicious. "There wasn't anything in the Magical Menagerie I liked when we went."   
  
"Yet despite being that picky, you're about to let your parents choose for you?" Scorpius got that impatient look on his face. Albus hated it.   
  
Pouring oil on troubled waters, he said, "Not quite. I sent them a long list of ones I like." He figured that since the whole conversation had been a lie on his side, this little one wouldn't hurt.  
  
"They should put 'passive-aggressive' over 'loyalty' in the Hufflepuff motto," said Scorpius, but he was grinning. The danger had passed.   
  
Albus breathed an inaudible sigh of relief; he hated rousing Scorpius' icy scorn. It was worse than James' cyclonic temper.   
  
"So," said Scorpius a few minutes later, "are you planning anything for your birthday?"  
  
"Not really," said Albus, surprised. "I mean, Mum'll send me loads of nice food, so I thought I'd bring it here and share it, but other than that..."  
  
"Hmm." Scorpius' brow furrowed in thought. "It's a good start." At that moment a squawk came from the Guardian's shelf.   
  
After Albus had caught Eoghan prodding Mouse with his wand to make him talk, Albus had brought him to the Clubhouse for safekeeping. Bruce had followed soon after, as Rambo liked spending Club time experimenting on him. So far he'd changed the colour of Bruce's fur from faded grey to bright orange, given him a horn that drew blood if you so much as touched it and enchanted him to purr when stroked. As no one else except Rambo cared to stroke him, especially after Titania had to go to the infirmary to have the hole in her arm healed, the debate on whether or not whales purred was forestalled.   
  
When the twins saw how Albus' and Rambo's toys had set up housekeeping in the Clubhouse, they decided to bring their companions as well. These turned out to be little twig people of indeterminate sex, with stiff skirts and ruffs and spiky hair. Titania explained that they were made from the wreckage of a broom they'd crashed when they'd manifested their first magic at the age of two and a half. They were nameless and creepy, but Albus appreciated the gesture.  
  
Scorpius had flat-out refused to contribute to the Guardian shelf. He claimed not to have a toy friend of any sort. Albus thought this was a lie, but he was more hurt by Scorpius' contempt than by his deception. Scorpius, who was the best informed of the group, hadn't even helped Rambo fix up a warning signal for the Guardians. It was only the crudest of alarm spells, but Scorpius' touch would surely have transformed it into something far more sophisticated. His parents were always sending him rare and obscure spellbooks to add to the collection he'd brought with him, some of it housed in the Clubhouse. But Scorpius had walked out for three days after they all pressured him to help. It had taken a considerable amount of coaxing and the last of Rambo's dwindling stash of Muggle sweets to get him back at all. Since then they took care not to push Scorpius into places he didn't want to go.   
  
"Curfew's up," said Rambo, unnecessarily. He sounded more like he was cursing the fact than disseminating the information, though. This was confirmed by his next words: "And I couldn't find a hint of _Sectumsempra_ anywhere, so I can't finish my essay."  
  
"It's not due for a week, calm down," said Scorpius.  
  
"But I have all these other things I want to look up," said Rambo. His face was contorted into the unmistakable anguish of the foiled academic. "I know hardly _anything_ , I have so much to catch up on -"  
  
"I'll help you look up some of the stuff tomorrow," said Albus. "The Chess Club's meeting was cancelled."  
  
"Thanks, Al," said Rambo, puce with relief.   
  
"No worries."  
  
Scorpius waited until Rambo was distracted by gathering up all his quills to turn a Look on Albus. The Look was very dynamic in the emotion it conveyed, but static in its construction, consisting of raised eyebrows, wrinkled forehead, extra-narrowed eyes and flattened lips. Albus pretended to ignore it, but Scorpius was nothing if not persistent.  
  
Rambo and Titania left before them. Titania was talking nine to the dozen about _The Dragon's Gullet_ , without requiring the slightest response from Rambo, who was still muttering about incomplete references. Scorpius stopped Albus from catching up with them by the simple expedient of grabbing a fold of Albus' sleeve between his fingers.   
  
"The Chess Club never cancels meetings," he said. "If the castle was burning down around them and a dragon had eaten the chessboards they wouldn't cancel a meeting. It would be the height of barbarity."  
  
"I can afford to miss one," said Albus.   
  
"No, you can't." The fingers on Albus' sleeve were twitching. "I've seen you play. I've _played_ you. You are about as good at chess as a mermaid is at ballroom dancing."  
  
Albus shrugged. "My dad always says chess takes time to perfect. He's been playing Uncle Ron for nearly forty years and hasn't beaten him yet."  
  
"All the more reason why you shouldn't skip a meeting!"  
  
"Rambo needs my help. He's my friend. That's more important than a chess meeting."  
  
" _Albus_." The word was nearly a groan. "Sometimes I think you -"  
  
"Curfew," said Albus shortly. "I could do without another detention, I don't know about you."  
  
"Fine. See you tomorrow."  
  
"Yeah," said Albus. "And don't hesitate to, you know, help us find that spell in one of your million books. If you can take the time out of your busy schedule."  
  
Scorpius' eyes narrowed to slits. The only other time Albus had seen that expression was before Scorpius had walked out. Albus didn't fancy waiting around to hear what he had to say. He tucked his hands into his sleeves and slipped away.   
  
The next day Scorpius didn't turn up at the Clubhouse, but his owl did. It carried a note that read: _Dear Rambo, Sectumsempra isn't a Ministry-approved spell because it is used for flaying people's skins off their bodies. I wouldn't include it in your essay as you'd probably get detention. Yrs, SAM._  
  
Rambo blanched and hurried to rewrite a whole paragraph. Albus burned up the note with a smile on his face and went back to playing chess with Norma.  
  
+_+_+  
  
The Halloween feast was everything James, who was a foodaholic, had boasted it would be. Headmistress McGonagall had arranged for formations of bats to swoop across the enchanted sky - currently dusky purple - in thrilling formations. The Muggle Studies teacher, Professor Wilde, had helped her to enchant Muggle loudspeakers so they blared out the latest hits from Witchfire and Hexed. If McGonagall looked pained by the wailing lyrics she suffered for the greater good, because everyone except the most hardcore, oldschool fans of the Weird Sisters and pathetic lovers of Celestina Warbeck bellowed along with their mouths full. Even Muggleborns like Rambo were soon ensnared by the catchy backbeats.  
  
Albus felt pleasantly sick when he retired to bed that night. Eoghan kept him up for hours groaning with stomach-ache. Albus couldn't bring himself to feel much sympathy for the boy, and he was glad when at one in the morning a long-suffering Conan offered to take him to the infirmary. Rambo slept like a log throughout.  
  
The next day Rambo woke Albus with a hand-charmed card, which sung Happy Birthday off-key in a tinny voice. Rambo looked pleased as punch, and nearly exploded with pride when Albus put the card in the place of honour atop his trunk. Breakfast opened with a deluge of owls bearing gifts and good wishes. Albus was a little embarrassed by the attention this garnered, but his fondness for presents soon overwhelmed it.  
  
His parents had sent sundry small items, like books and scarves and, embarrassingly, underpants, but when Headmistress McGonagall sent for him he knew this was about the real present. As he left the Hall James jumped in his path. Albus flinched, expecting a blow - James had been in the habit of turning birthday bumps into a complex form of torture - but James merely mumbled, "Happy Birthday" and shoved a card into his hand. Rose even deigned to smile at him before Victoire and Marie-Jeanette rushed over to present their own gifts.  
  
McGonagall was waiting for him in her study. Portraits of past headmasters beamed down on him benevolently, and Albus saw one with a long white beard flick something from his eye and disappear into the frame of another, whose greasy hair covered his scowling face. Albus was too excited to pay much attention.  
  
"Happy Birthday, Albus," said McGonagall, smiling.  
  
"Thank you," said Albus. He was uncertain as to whether he was supposed to call her Professor McGonagall or Aunt Minerva, so he settled for nothing at all.   
  
"Your mother and father sent your gift into my keeping," said McGonagall, "and I've taken the liberty of making my present a part of it." She lifted a casket on to her desk. It was shaped like a hat-box and covered in maroon silk. "Go on, then. Open it."  
  
Albus held his breath as he carefully removed the lid of the box. Inside the box was lined with pale blue padding, in the midst of which a tiny kitten was curled up, fast asleep. Albus felt his face break into a smile. He reached out a finger to touch the kitten's delicate ear. It was a most unusual colour, a sort of slate blue - except for around the ears, nose and paws, where the colour darkened to violet, and its underbelly, which was the shade of buttermilk.   
  
"I have enchanted the box to transform into various things at your command - a carrying cage, a pillow, a sleeping basket and so on," said McGonagall. "Well? Do you like him?"  
  
"He's the coolest thing ever," breathed Albus.  
  
"I'll take that as a yes." McGonagall smiled briefly; Albus missed the expression entirely, rapt as he was in tickling the kitten awake. "You may take him back to your common room."  
  
"Thank you, Aunt Minerva," said Albus, giving her an impulsive hug. It was like embracing a broomstick, but after a minute McGonagall unbent enough to pat his shoulder.  
  
"Would you like to take a biscuit with you?" she asked.  
  
"That would be nice," said Albus dutifully, although McGonagall's homemade ginger snaps were as much fun as celery salad. Perhaps the kitten would like them. Albus couldn't wait to show him off. He was already debating names in his head as he made his way to the Clubhouse.  
  
The other four were awaiting him there. Albus got the surprise of his life when he opened the door to find the room transformed into a grotto, strung with fairy lights in rainbow colours and a 'Happy Birthday' banner stretched across one wall. It sparkled as it rippled in a magical breeze. A trestle table had been set up to hold all manner of sweets and fat things; pride of place was given to a huge slab of chocolate cake. Albus could feel springy grass under his feet.  
  
"What'd you get?" cried Norma, as Titania said, "Let's see it, then."   
  
"Shh," said Albus. "He's just woken up. Don't scare him." He knelt down and sat the box on the grass. When he took off the lid the kitten blinked its huge turquoise eyes at him and began to purr. Albus scooped him up and deposited him gently in Norma's lap. She squealed with delight.  
  
"Isn't he precious?"  
  
"He looks like a jewel. A jewel-cat!" said Titania.  
  
"My mother said cats carry all sorts of nasty diseases," said Rambo apprehensively.  
  
"I'm sure they say the same about you," said Titania, stealing the kitten from Norma to hold him at head height and rub noses.   
  
"Don't worry, he's been properly checked out," Albus assured him. "Why don't you give him one pat?"  
  
Rambo obeyed, narrowly avoiding petting Titania's eye instead. "He's soft!"  
  
"Of course he is, he's a little baby kitten," said Norma, scratching him behind the ears. "What did you expect, bristles?"  
  
The three of them began to argue companionably; all their conversations invariably disintegrated into squabbles. Albus looked around for Scorpius. He was standing beside the food table, his arms crossed over his chest and his face shuttered.  
  
"This place looks amazing," said Albus. "Did you do it?"  
  
"Kind of," said Scorpius, which meant 'yes, all of it.' Albus smiled and bumped shoulders with him.  
  
"It's great. And the food? Don't tell me you cooked it too."  
  
"Don't be ridiculous." Scorpius sniffed. "I enticed it out of the house elves. Look at the cake."  
  
Albus peered at the cake. On closer inspection it was in the shape of a castle with four turrets. Each of the turrets had a piped icing letter under the parapet: S, N, T and R. 'Albus' was swirled over the drawbridge. Great care had been taken to use different shades of icing for the bricks and mortar, not to mention the tiny dots forming the chain of the drawbridge.  
  
"Watch this," said Scorpius. He touched his wand to the drawbridge. It opened and four tiny knights made of butter cream marched out. They saluted Albus and chorused "Happy Birthday!"  
  
"You went to so much trouble!" Albus shook his head in amazement. He ghosted his hand over the knights. "Thank you, Scorpius."  
  
Scorpius' face relaxed into a rare smile. "Happy birthday, Albus. Here, eat one of them. Their core is spun sugar - so much easier to enchant than plain cream, let me tell you."  
  
Albus popped one knight into his mouth and tossed another at Scorpius. It was almost a shame to eat them, they were so exquisite; but Albus didn't regret it once the taste exploded on to his tongue.   
  
"Hey, you should consider a career in culinary magic," he said with his mouth full. "This tastes like a cloud."  
  
"How do you know what a cloud tastes like? It's just condensed water."  
  
"It's how I _imagine_ a cloud would taste like." Albus looked around for a knife. Reading his mind, Scorpius produced one from the pocket of his robe.   
  
"Quick quick, hand it over," said Albus. "I want to see if the rest of this cake tastes as good as its inhabitants!"  
  
"Cannibal," said Scorpius, but he hadn't stopped smiling.  
  
+_+_+  
  
Albus felt light-headed and disconnected as he walked back to Hufflepuff Wing with Titania and Rambo, but he put it down to one too many helpings of ice-cream. By the time he reached the dormitory his hands and feet were tingling with pins and needles. He felt the lymph nodes under his chin and, sure enough, they were swollen to the size of Snitches. His tongue was puffing up; he could feel it pressing the insides of his lips.  
  
With jerky movements, Albus managed to find the box of potions in his trunk. He bit off the cork of one bottle and drank the slimy liquid down, shuddering at the taste. Then he curled up on the bed. The kitten jumped on to his pillow and kneaded it with his claws. Apparently unsatisfied, he trotted down the mattress and sunk his teeth into the blanket. He proceeded to drag it up over Albus' feet. Albus' last waking memory was of smiling at the kitten as it settled down to sleep beside him.  
  
Rambo later described the terror he'd felt when Albus didn't get up with the alarm the next day, and Rambo pulled back his curtains to find him stretched out blue and cold on the bed. "I thought for sure you were dead," he told Albus. He, Eoghan and Conan carried him as far as the common room, where they found a group of fourth-years who levitated Albus while Rambo ran ahead to alert Madam MacDougal.  
  
Albus recalled nothing of this. He next awoke between the stiff, sterile sheets of the infirmary. His parents were standing beside his bed. Mum looked liked she'd recently been crying, and Dad's jaw was quilted with frustration.  
  
"He's awake," Mum said to Dad as Albus opened his eyes. They were dry and stingy. He blinked a few times to ease the discomfort.  
  
"What you doing here?" he whispered. His throat felt as if someone had tipped burning liquid down it for several hours.  
  
"You had another attack," said Mum. "I'm sorry, Albus."  
  
"What? Why?" Albus struggled to sit up, but Dad's hand on his shoulder prevented him.  
  
"Don't try to move too much, Al," he said. "You've been here for four days without any proper food. You're too weak, don't over-tax yourself."  
  
"He's right," said Madam MacDougal. Her soft-soled shoes had made no noise as she entered the room. "Albus, dear, I'm glad you're awake. I've been magically infusing you with fluids so you don't get dehydrated, but we'll start you on solids just as soon as you feel up to it. But you won't be moving from that bed for another day at least."  
  
"Oh." Albus stared at the ceiling. His happiness at seeing his parents was swamped by his revulsion for the prison sentence Madam MacDougal had just pronounced on him. "What happened?"  
  
Mum and Dad shared a look, one that meant 'we're not going to tell you everything you want to hear.' Madam MacDougal appeared to have other ideas. "I've tested your blood, Albus. There are traces of a number of antigens, including nuts and cat dander. The immune-boosting potions appear to be losing their effectiveness and you're body is open to infection again."  
  
"We think you might have to go back to St Mungo's for some more tests -" Mum began.  
  
"No!" shouted Albus. To his shame, tears began to well at the corners of his eyes. "I don't want to go back there - I want to stay at school -"  
  
"But the potions aren't working anymore," said Dad inexorably.  
  
"If you'll excuse my interrupting," said Madam MacDougal, "that isn't quite correct. The potions have lost some of their effectiveness, yes, but not all of it. For the time being they may suffice, if Albus consents to stay away from everything that could be considered an antigen, and takes care to perform Scouring and Air Filtering Charms at regular intervals. These potions are very strong, after all; not to mention they've been designed with adult patients in mind. The last thing you want to do is overload Albus' body at this young age. With all due respect, I'd suggest that you allow his defence system, weak as it is, some breathing space."  
  
"We usually don't discuss these things in front of Albus," said Mum.  
  
"He is the patient here," said Madam MacDougal, her voice gaining a sharp edge. "This information belongs to him. He's a bright boy; I'm sure he understands what I'm saying."  
  
"I do," said Albus. "Mum, Dad, I want to stay here. I'll do everything Madam MacDougal says. I promise."  
  
"All right," said Dad heavily. Mum opened her mouth to protest, and Dad squeezed her hand. "Ginny, we've discussed this ... Albus should have as normal a life as possible. He deserves that much."  
  
"Well, then." Mum's mouth was thin and sad. "Just you make sure you learn those spells properly, Albus. Do _exactly_ what Madam MacDougal says. And I want you to have a check-up at St Mungo's over Christmas!"  
  
"All right." Albus was elated. _He didn't have to leave_. He would have agreed if Mum said he had to dance naked in front of James over Christmas, so relieved was he.  
  
"I've already compiled a list of possibly harmful antigens," said Madam MacDougal, unfurling a depressingly long piece of parchment. She took Albus' hand. "I'm sorry, but your new pet is dangerous, given your weak immunity. You can't keep him with you any longer."  
  
"My kitten?" One rogue tear escaped Albus' control and splashed salt on to his lips. "I have to give away my kitten? I didn't even get to name him..."  
  
"You have to do it, for the sake of your health," said Madam MacDougal gently. "Surely it's worth it, if it means you get to stay?"  
  
"Yeah, I suppose." Albus dashed the wetness from his cheek.  
  
"Good boy." Madam MacDougal squeezed his hand. "Your friends have been begging to come see you. I think you'll be able to handle one, if you promise to take a Sleeping Draught straight after."  
  
"Scorpius, please," said Albus immediately. He thought perhaps he should have asked for Rambo, but he wanted Scorpius more.  
  
"Scorpius Malfoy?" said Dad, and Mum echoed him: "Malfoy's son?"  
  
"Yeah," said Albus. He couldn't read the expression on their faces.   
  
"We'd better get going, Al," said Dad, after an awkward pause. "We'll leave you to catch up with your ... friend."  
  
"Okay." Albus took a wobbly breath. He wished his parents weren't going away again so soon, but they'd probably been here for days already. He gave them both a hug, holding on for a bit longer than a boy of eleven should have, and watched the green fire swallow them up.  
  
Scorpius was deathly pale as he crept into the room. He looked very young all of a sudden. Albus had hoped for comfort from him, but he saw that Scorpius was the one needing reassurance.  
  
He smiled and said, "Hey, Scorpius."  
  
Scorpius stood stock still and stared at him. His voice, when he spoke, was like a geyser bursting.  
  
"'Hey Scorpius'? You go and nearly die, and don't wake up for days, and 'Hey Scorpius' is the best you can do? How about an apology for nearly scaring us all to death?"  
  
"I'm sorry." Albus rolled his eyes. "There, do you feel better now?"  
  
"No." Scorpius flung himself into a chair and buried his face into his hands. His voice was muffled. "Don't ever pretend to die again, all right?"  
  
"I didn't pretend to die _this_ time. I just got an allergic attack. That's what I wanted to talk to you about." Albus' voice shook, despite all he could do to hold it steady. "I can't keep my cat. Will you look after him for me?"  
  
"You want me to take Jewel?" Scorpius stared at him through a cage of fingers.   
  
"Jewel?"  
  
"We had to call him something." Scorpius looked uncomfortable. "It was Titania's idea. I don't like it, but they all ganged up on me..."  
  
"Jewel's a nice name."  
  
"It's a boy cat! At the very least it should be _masculine_."  
  
"You haven't answered my question."  
  
"Well, of course I'll look after him," snapped Scorpius, as if it were obvious. "I won't own him, mind. I’ll only be keeping him until you ... get better."  
  
"Obviously." Albus pinched his wrist. His eyes were wet again.   
  
Scorpius slowly took his hands off his face. The two boys stared at each other for a long moment. Albus pinched his wrist harder. Scorpius leapt from his seat and flung his arms around Albus' neck.  
  
"I'm so glad it wasn't me," he muttered into Albus' chin. "I thought for sure I'd poisoned you with my cake."  
  
"Don't be an idiot." Albus laughed weakly, remembering that nuts and cream were on the list of antigens as well as on the cake recipe.   
  
"I would have been," said Scorpius thickly, "if I'd made a cake that killed my ... that killed my best friend."  
  
Albus froze. Then he smiled, feeling happier than he had since he woke up - and that was a steep hill to climb, considering how upsetting the day had been from start to finish.  
  
But he knew better than to let Scorpius see the extent of his delight. Pushing at Scorpius' head, his fingers sinking into the buttery curls, he said, "So what you're saying is ... Scorpius Malfoy did something so totally plebeian as make a cake his own self? Don't tell me - you licked the spoon and all."  
  
Scorpius sat up, his hair awry and his brows diving towards his nose. Albus laughed at him, and kept laughing until Scorpius laughed too.  
  
"Yeah, all right," gasped Scorpius at last, "I admit it. I made the cake. And I _licked the spoon_."  
  
 **a/n:** I love how this icon could work in both fandoms. Kinda sorta maybe.


	4. Chapter 4

_Your storms may cause a branch to break,  
My body aches for sleep;  
But wasted is your vicious scorn,  
I cry but never weep._  
(Kailash Puri)  
  
After the dust settled and Albus had had time to reflect, he realised that the oddest part of the whole business was the total ignorance concerning his and Scorpius' friendship. Albus put it down to the fact that the five of them spent most of their free time in the Clubhouse, to which secret hide-out no one else was privy. Yet none of them had taken pains to hide their friendship; if Albus sat beside Rambo in class more than Scorpius, and with Scorpius more than the twins, it was just the way the group's dynamics had played out. They didn't huddle stiff and mute like others did in mixed-House classes. Albus would have thought this, at least, would be a significant clue. But no; it appeared as if the school at large regarded such aberrations as invisible.  
  
When Albus was finally well enough to go back to school after Halloween, a fortnight of classes had come and gone. Rambo had conscientiously kept copies of all his notes and homework with the use of a tricky Duplicating Charm. In a surprising fit of generosity - for the Slytherin wasn't good at sharing anything, his time most of all - Scorpius devoted an entire weekend to tutoring Albus in everything he'd missed. For every minute spent explaining, Scorpius matched it with ten of shouting and two of tearing out his hair. Still, Albus appreciated the spirit of the gesture, if not its execution.   
  
The twins helped in their own unique way by owl-ordering a small mountain of sweets to soothe Albus' sick-bed. Albus had to tactfully dispose of most of these; the List severely curtailed his dining choices. With a little manoeuvring, Albus hoped to hide the extent of his deficiencies from both his friends and the school at large. However, he failed to include James in his calculations; and James turned out to be the factor that rendered his precautions null and void.  
  
In most respects Albus felt prepared to return to school on Monday morning. Although his diet would not have excited even a vegetarian organic lentil farmer, he felt almost completely recovered. He was as familiar with his studies as he ever had been. Headmistress McGonagall had given him a note excusing his lack of homework. He gamely hoped that the worst was over and that soon, normality would return to visit his life - perhaps to stay.  
  
Albus went straight from the infirmary to class and from class to dinner to the Clubhouse. It wasn't until eight pm that night that he discovered something rotten in the state of Hufflepuff.  
  
Albus' initial approval of the V-man and Firefly's antics had long since waned, as it had been based on their slandering of James and nothing else. Albus grew to dislike the way they sought out their victims’ sore points and laced them with vinegar. If that was their idea of House loyalty, it was not one Albus wished to share.  
  
He was hard-pressed to explain his distaste to his friends. Rambo laughed at the things he understood, although most of the slyer insults didn't penetrate his straightforward thinking. When Albus expressed doubts about the entertainment value of the anonymous conversations, Rambo had said: "It's just like celebrity TV. It's not like any of the people they write about are ever going to see it, so it doesn't matter."  
  
Titania had much the same response. She was quicker than Rambo, but that only increased her admiration for the V-man and Firefly. "The things they come up with are so clever. I wish _my_ insults were as witty."  
  
Albus had only to imagine himself as a subject of the slurs to know that they were neither as entertaining nor clever as they were cruel and soul-destroying. But when he confided in Scorpius, his best friend's reply was enough to crush Albus' moral crusade in the bud.  
  
"Don’t be such a little prig," Scorpius had said, with a tone of unadulterated contempt and a tightly curled lip. "Who died and made you the ruler of everything? It sounds to me like these two are the first Hufflepuffs in history to actually possess a sense of humour. They should be given medals, not subjected to your pedantic whining. _Please_ tell me you haven't gone preaching to anyone else."  
  
"No - just Rambo and the twins."  
  
"Good." Scorpius' relief had been as palpable as it was incomprehensible. "Albus, I know you don't find them funny. But other people do - a _lot_ of other people do. 'The majority is always right,' remember?"  
  
"But it's not right to laugh at things people can't help."  
  
'No - Albus, what that means is what the majority _does_ is right. Of course making fun of people is theoretically wrong. But everyone knows that, so they already feel kind of bad for doing it. Telling people something unpleasant that they _already know_ isn't going to make them like you."  
  
"But I didn't -"  
  
"Albus." Scorpius put his hands on Albus' shoulders, his piercing eyes searching out Albus' reluctant ones. "Promise me that you'll stop talking and complaining about this. Do it for me, as your friend who's trying to look out for you."  
  
Nothing else could have sealed Albus' lips. But Scorpius had extracted no promises from Albus to refrain from thinking about it. The more Albus pondered the matter, the sorer he got over it - more so because he had no outlet for his frustration. So the weeks and months had passed away since their conversation. Albus took care to avoid looking at the seventh-year noticeboard and tried to close his ears against the chatter about whatever new scandal had come to light there. It was difficult, but it was also the only sure-fire way to prevent his frustration building so much that he risked breaking his promise to Scorpius.  
  
That evening Rambo and Titania checked the board for new conversations as soon as they entered the common room, a habit they shared with most of Hufflepuff. Albus left them to fetch his Transfigurations essay from a cubbyhole. Rambo and Scorpius had been discussing the selfsame essay in the Clubhouse, and Albus gathered from their remarks that his own wasn't nearly up to scratch. Transfigurations was his least favourite subject, despite the many books he'd read on it over the years courtesy of his godmother. With a reluctant sigh, he took up his quill.   
  
He didn't catch the horrified look shared by Rambo and Titania at the other side of the room. Albus' suspicion was aroused, however, when Rambo let Titania engage him in a convoluted discussion about Quidditch instead of opening a book in her face. Titania was well aware of the exact measurement of Albus' miniscule interest in Quidditch, so when she turned to him and asked his opinion on the Kestrels' chances this season, he knew something was up.  
  
"What happened?" he asked.  
  
"Nothing," said Titania brightly.   
  
Titania was a girl for whom it was physically impossible to leave a stone unturned in her quest for gossip. There was no 'nothing' Titania could not transform into 'something,' often with a helping of invention that was as amusing as it was audacious. Albus, watching her closely, saw her gaze dart towards the noticeboard. He scowled and, abandoning his essay, he made his way across the room. He waited with barely-concealed patience as a giggling batch of fourth-years read the conversations, giggled more, and moved off, still giggling.   
  
Albus feverishly read down the narrow strip of parchment, too fast to comprehend it at first.  
  
 _So, F, what do you think of the latest evil scheme afoot at Hogwarts?_  
  
 **Indigestible. Can't believe McGonagall had the gall to start giving out her concrete biscuits as rewards in class. Bye-bye perfect Transfig marks - I'd answer every question wrong if it'd get me out of choking down a gingersnap like a clever parrot.**  
  
 _Right as you are, that's not the plot I'm talking about. It seems Slytherin House is nursing a viper at its green and withered breast - no surprise there. We have it on the best authority that Scorpius Malfoy made an poisonous attempt on the life of our own Potter wasp._  
  
 **Hoho - it seems the apple never falls far from the tree! How many people did old Draco Malfoy attempt to kill during his education at Hogwarts? Refresh my memory, dear F.**  
  
 _I can't count beyond my fingers, V, have you forgotten? And I'm too lazy to take off my shoes. But if we're talking quality instead of quantity, Dicko Malfag was on the point of killing the famous war hero Albus Dumbledore before fellow Death Eater Snape beat him to the finish line._  
  
 **Those inbred snakes aren't the brightest lot - could it be that little Scorp decided Albus Potter would do to revenge his father on the original Big A?**  
  
 _With the dark side, anything is possible. Never mind that Potter is as much a Dumbledore as you or I._  
  
 **But when it comes to acrimonious revenge, any Potter would be top of any Malfoy's list. This dates back to the famous Harry Potter's time, when a day without a Potter-Malfoy scrap was a day without sunshine. Just ask anyone who attended Hogwarts before the second Great War.**  
  
 _Seems both sons are carrying on fine old traditions. I don't know about you, V, but I'm rooting for our little wasp._  
  
 **That goes without saying. But if it came down to wands and fists, my money'd be on Jack-off Potter. Your humble V-man saw him quarrelling with the snakeling in the corridors not two days past. Jack-off had Scorpion-breath bang to rights out there.**  
  
 _Jack-off should watch his back. He'd take Scorpion-breath in a fair fight any day, but every snake born plays dirty. If he's not careful he'll come down with a mysterious and life-threatening ailment, just like his little brother._  
  
 **Speaking of little brothers, F, it seems Alishan Chatterji tattled to daddy about his big sister Yasmin’s relationship with fellow Claw Doug Boot. Our latest intelligence suggests she might be celebrating her arranged marriage back in Hyderabad a few years early...**  
  
His eyes burning with mortification and anger, Albus stopped reading. Pausing only to whip off a messy Duplicating Charm, he stormed back to the table. Rambo and Titania cowered at the look in his eyes.  
  
"What is this - this _filth_?" he spat. "Disgusting lies! If these idiots are so apparently well-informed, how come they didn't know I had an _allergic attack_? Just an allergic attack! I was 'poisoned' by nothing more sinister than dust!"  
  
"Well, you see," Titania quavered, "back when you were first ill, and we were all waiting in the infirmary to visit you, James overheard us discussing your birthday party. Scorpius was in bits. He was sure he'd made the cake wrong. James accused him of deliberating sabotaging you ... they got into a fight, and they've been having spats ever since."  
  
"And you didn't tell me this before _why_?"  
  
"Scorpius made us promise not to," said Rambo staunchly. "He didn't want to upset you while you were getting better. And Albus, James _is_ your brother. Scorpius was afraid you wouldn't be his friend any more if you knew he was beating up your brother."  
  
"So Scorpius is winning?" Albus shook the duplicated parchment. "This suggests that James is coming out on top in their fights."  
  
"Well, you know the V-man and Firefly hate Slytherin more than Gryffindor and Ravenclaw put together," said Titania. "They'd back James as non-Slytherin even if Scorpius had him on his knees begging for mercy."  
  
"No, I didn't know that. But somehow it doesn't surprise me in the least." Albus stayed silent for a while, trying to gather his thoughts. Titania and Rambo made faces at each other, but didn't intrude on his contemplation.   
  
Albus didn't like Scorpius' deception; it smacked too much of the sort of underhanded tactics the V-man and Firefly were already accusing him of using merely because he was a Slytherin. But to be scrupulously fair, Albus had never revealed the extent of the rift between himself and James. As far as any of his friends knew, the brothers simply shared the usual sibling antipathy found in all families. Albus certainly didn't approve of James and Scorpius fighting, but he would be inclined to lay all the blame at James' door. If Scorpius was merely defending himself, Albus was rooting for him all the way. Even if he were the initiator of the fights, Albus' loyalty to his chosen friend would overcome his loyalty of duty towards a family member.  
  
Of course, Scorpius couldn't be expected to be inspired with this knowledge. Albus quickly forgave him for the cover-up pending further investigation. For now, the cold heat of his anger was focused on the malicious content of the seventh-years' gleeful conversation.  
  
"Do you think you two could leave Scorpius and me alone in the Clubhouse tomorrow?" said Albus slowly. "And Titania, could you get a message to Norma? There's something I need to discuss with Scorpius. Privately."  
  
"Sure," said Titania. "Albus, is there anything we can do? I - I didn't agree with what you said before, but they're wrong about Scorpius. His father - but Scorpius would never do anything like that."  
  
"Of course he wouldn't," said Albus, and his voice would have withered evergreens. "As it happens, there is something you three can do. I know you're as good at gathering information as any seventh-year, Ti. Find out who the V-man and Firefly are - I want names, their real names."  
  
"What are you going to do?" asked Rambo, when it was clear Titania had been cowed into silence. Albus looked up, and something in his face made Rambo grip his wand tightly under the table.  
  
"Destroy them, of course," said Albus Potter.  
  
+_+_+  
  
When Albus entered the Clubhouse for the first time alone, he was shocked at the change in the decor. Gone were the cheery rugs and beautiful window frames; gone were the worn hammocks and friendly campfire. In their place was a stark chamber, painted scarlet and tiled with mirror-like black mosaics. The walls were hung with battle flags and implements of war. The fire that burned did so in a subdued manner, buried deep in a forbidding metal-wrought hearth. The light was insufficient to cast more than shadows.   
  
Ordinarily Albus would have been rather intimidated by such a room; but the iron had entered his soul. The chamber was fitting for the deeds that would come to pass within its walls. On the matter Albus thought no further. He sat in one of the high-backed mahogany chairs to await Scorpius' arrival.  
  
Scorpius exclaimed aloud when he entered. "What happened to this place?"  
  
"I don't know," said Albus. 'Or care' hung in the air between them. Before Scorpius could speak again, he pushed the duplicated parchment across the oak table. "I want you to read this."  
  
Scorpius snatched up the parchment and read quickly, his pale face flushing as his eyes flicked down the page. "Is this some kind of sick joke?"  
  
Albus shook his head. "That's the V-man and Firefly's idea of social commentary. Would you like to defend them again?"  
  
"I - no." Scorpius' face filled with a deeper, uglier colour. "Is this your way of getting back at me for saying that?"  
  
"You were wrong about them, but it wasn't your fault." Albus took the parchment out of Scorpius' lax hands and folded it into his robes. "So you have been fighting with my brother?"  
  
"Yes." Scorpius lifted his chin.   
  
"I'm not angry about it," said Albus. "One day I'll tell you exactly why, but right now I want to discuss something far more important."  
  
"And what's that?"  
  
"Revenge." Albus smiled. "Won't you sit down?"  
  
"I don't understand." Scorpius remained standing. "Revenge for what?"  
  
"You, of course," said Albus. "You think I'm going to stand by and let them insult my friends when and how they please? And insinuate that I'm some pathetic sickly weakling who can't defend himself, but has to rely on his big brother to do it for him? No."  
  
Scorpius put his hand on the back of a chair, his fingers shaking slightly. "My father was never a Death Eater. Never! But some of what they're saying is true. Your father and mine were enemies once, Albus."  
  
"Oh." Albus frowned as he digested this. "So did your father really try to kill Dumbledore?"  
  
"I don't know," said Scorpius, looking anguished. "He never speaks about his childhood - nothing before when he met Mother. She’s only told me a little, and then only when I pestered her about it."  
  
"Huh. Dad's the same," said Albus. "All he'll say about Hogwarts is that it was the first real home he ever had, and that he met Mum and Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron there. It's not what you'd call informative."  
  
"Perhaps it'd be better to let this slide," said Scorpius. "These two obviously know more about our own parents' pasts than we do -"  
  
"I don't care!" said Albus fiercely. "I don't care what our parents did. We're _us_ , and we're best friends. I never liked what the V-man and Firefly were doing, but I was the only one. Now you must see what they really are."  
  
"Yes, but only because they turned on me," Scorpius pointed out.  
  
"Isn't that enough to show you that it's _always_ wrong? Imagine if you were every single person they turned on - what then? And McGonagall is a great teacher and she got a First-Class Order for her part in the second Great War. They have no right to insult her biscuits - they don't deserve to clean her cauldrons!"  
  
"All right, Albus." Scorpius sat down. "Breathe. You've convinced me. I don’t particularly want to let them get away with insulting my family either. What's your plan?"  
  
Albus took a deep breath. "I've put Titania on to finding out who the V-man and Firefly really are. After that ... I have no idea. I was hoping you'd have one."  
  
"Let me see that parchment again?" Scorpius inspected it. "You used a duplicating charm on the original, right? The writing is a bit blurred."  
  
"Yeah, I did."  
  
"It's shouldn't be too hard to fix up a standing charm on the parchment they use - do they put up a fresh sheet each day, or add to the same one?"  
  
"They add to the same one - they have a Never-ending Parchment."  
  
"One of them's loaded, then," said Scorpius, sounding distracted. "If Rambo helped me I could fix the charm to another parchment in here - maybe using a lodestone. Norma has a crystal she keeps in her pencilcase. That should do it."  
  
"What are you thinking, Scorpius?"  
  
Scorpius looked up, eyes alight with malice. "That we play these berks at their own game."  
  
+_+_+  
  
The magic was impeccable, but the outline concept flawed. Albus realised this in under a week, as things started to spiral out of control.  
  
Titania stayed on lookout in the common room while Rambo and Scorpius worked together on fixing a Duplicating Charm to run from the Hufflepuff common room to the Clubhouse. They hit a snag in finalising the spells that would transfer any new conversations on the Never-ending Parchment directly on to the parchment in the Clubhouse. Meanwhile, Titania took Bushy-Tailed Brew two nights running in order to keep watch on the Never-ending Parchment. She got zero marks on an essay she handed in for Charms ('utter balderdash - did you sleep-write this?' was the comment) but was rewarded for her toil at four am on the second night.  
  
"It's Penwyn Jones and Raymond Skeeter-Cresswell," she informed them in the Clubhouse the next afternoon, triumphant despite looking like an insomniac raccoon. "That or they're lackeys for the V-man and Firefly. Me and Rambo are going to tail them every chance we get, as well as Raymond's girlfriend Mary Macmillan. They're sure to drop some clues if we listen carefully."  
  
"Penwyn Jones, the prefect?" Albus frowned. "But they're not very popular. How on earth do they find out all this stuff?" He'd been following the latest conversations as research; the vitriol was always within spitting distance of the truth.   
  
Titania shrugged. "Maybe we'll find that out."  
  
The next day Rambo had an inspiration for their prototype that both cleared the snag and earned him a detention for shouting in class. Scorpius spent the whole evening with his head buried in _Advanced Enchantments for the Enterprising Sorcerer_ to add the final touch: the ability to respond to the conversations at a distance. Finally all that was left to do was pick an alias.  
  
"What about Berto Blastnoggin?" suggested Albus.  
  
Scorpius wrinkled his nose. "The kid in the VD Wallflower books?"  
  
"Yeah - he's cool and he's always fighting bad wizards. It's perfect."  
  
"If you say so," muttered Scorpius. Albus resolved to ask Scorpius why he wasn't a fan later; it was time to see if the network of spells held up.  
  
"I'll go back to the common room," he said. "You stay here and write something. If it works I'll stay there; if not I'll come back."  
  
"Titania and Rambo had better stick with me for a while," said Scorpius. "You’ll make people suspicious if you all go back early."  
  
Albus took up a position at the table that allowed him to see the seventh-year noticeboard without appearing to stare at it. He was instantly aware of Scorpius' response, for it stood out in pulsating green compared to the black ink of the rest of the conversation. He couldn't read the words, but those nearby could. There were a number of sniggers and rolled eyes. Penwyn Jones, who was sprawled on a sofa, sat up a little straighter. To his credit he didn't immediately investigate the source of the ruckus, but Albus saw him fish his glasses out of a pocket.  
  
Pretending to walk to the fire to sharpen his quill, Albus glanced at the noticeboard. He had to stop himself grimacing in horror. Scorpius had written: "You guys are really insulting. Why don't you use your real names, or are you too afraid? - Berto Blastnoggin."  
  
Clearly Penwyn and Raymond had a rapid response system comparable to the one Albus and his friends had set up, for a response from the V-man came through as Albus watched. "Well said, Mr Blastnoggin - or should that be Sir Troll? Such brave words from someone using the pseudonym of a character from a kid's book!"  
  
Albus hurried away, to the sound of claps from the gathered Hufflepuffs. He had an inkling that things were going to go badly wrong - and he was right.  
  
The conversations quickly disintegrated into slanging matches. Scorpius was no match for the combined might of the V-man and Firefly, who had a long history of squashing their opposition - even if it didn't usually answer back. They responded to every taunt with a joke, to every threat with a taunt. They didn't take Scorpius seriously, but by provoking Scorpius' temper they drew out of him more information than he should have divulged. Albus seriously doubted that this was a coincidence.  
  
Whatever mysterious mechanisms the two seventh-years used to collect information were turned on them, as Albus and Scorpius discovered when a conversation they'd shared was reported verbatim on the Never-ending Parchment - complete with woundingly witty comments. Albus had been asking Scorpius about Jewel, who was thriving under his care. It was an innocuous conversation, but more than the horrible things the seventh-years implied in their comments Albus resented the invasion of his privacy. It seemed that Albus had been dishonourably discharged from Hufflepuff House due to his friendship with a Slytherin. The full scourge of the V-man and Firefly's scorn soon lacerated him as much as Scorpius. People in the common room began to stare and whisper behind their hands when Albus entered.   
  
Worst of all, nothing could dissuade Scorpius from responding to whatever the Hufflepuff duo threw at him. Albus remonstrated with him about the foolishness of continuing with the idea and they nearly came to blows outside the Slytherin common room. This was duly reported in the Never-ending Parchment, winding Scorpius up so much he revealed unambiguously who he was.  
  
"We're in for it now," said Albus. He was standing with Scorpius in the Clubhouse, watching the crowing comments appear on the duplicated parchment.   
  
Sure enough, a summons was handed to Scorpius as soon as they turned the corridor from the Clubhouse. The note requested him to appear immediately before Headmistress McGonagall and Assistant Headmaster Longbottom.   
  
"I'm to escort you," said the horse-faced Gryffindor prefect who'd carried the note. "Come along then, Malfoy."  
  
"I'm coming too," said Albus.  
  
"The note asked for Malfoy _only_ ," said the prefect.  
  
"And how do you know that? Did you open the note given to you by the Headmistress?" demanded Albus. "I don't think she looks too kindly on sneaks."  
  
The prefect turned cherry red and made no further objections. Albus ignored Scorpius' scowls and shooing gestures and marched beside him all the way to the Headmistress' office. There the prefect spoke the password and left them.  
  
"Come on," said Albus. Scorpius had turned whiter and whiter as they walked. "And stop looking at me like that. This entire plan started with me and I'm going to tell them so. Catch me leaving you to take the rap for this on your own!"  
  
"I wasn't going to bring the rest of you into it," murmured Scorpius.  
  
"I don't see any need to tell them about Rambo and Titania's part in it," said Albus. "But _we're_ in this together, Scorpius. Understood?"  
  
Scorpius nodded. Satisfied, Albus lead the way.  
  
"Hello Mr Malfoy - and Mr Potter." McGonagall raised her white eyebrows. "I gave to understand that only Mr Malfoy was to be summoned to this meeting."  
  
"I know - but I'm here to confess," said Albus robustly. "Getting revenge on Penwyn and Raymond was my idea. I wouldn't have brought Scorpius into it except that they insulted him too."  
  
"I think there's been a misunderstanding," said Longbottom. "We're not here to chastise either you or Mr Malfoy for your parts in this petty mud-slinging. You've none of you broken any rules in this matter. No matter how unpleasant, we can't legislate for every insult spoken or written in this castle."  
  
That didn't sound right to Albus, but he wasn't about to take on Professor Longbottom in a debate over ethics. He buttoned his lip and let Longbottom speak.  
  
"But we are of course aware of the contact initiated by Mr Malfoy, and this is why he is here." Longbottom turned to Scorpius. "We believe you are the last person to have had contact with Raymond Cresswell-Skeeter before his disappearance."  
  
"Disappearance?" Scorpius' fine brows drew together. "What, he's gone missing?"  
  
Longbottom glanced at Headmistress McGonagall. "Yes. Penwyn Jones was here not an hour ago in a lather of worry. It seems Raymond failed to show up to a study group in the Library for the first time in his life. He isn't to be found anywhere in Hufflepuff Wing. A search is being carried out in the larger castle as we speak. We were hoping you might have some information as to his whereabouts, Mr Malfoy."  
  
"Hopefully he fell off the Astronomy Tower." Scorpius' voice was roughened with justifiable anger, but Albus didn't like the expression on McGonagall's face. "But I have no idea."  
  
"I've been with Scorpius since classes ended," added Albus. "If anything's happened to Raymond, Scorpius isn't responsible."  
  
"You are prepared to swear on this?" Professor Longbottom's face was solemn.  
  
"On my life."  
  
"Very well. That's good enough for me. Headmistress?"  
  
"Yes. I believe you, Albus. But if you happen upon any information after this, would you please let us know? And Mr Malfoy, I ask you to refrain from using your ingenious form of communication until we have located Mr Cresswell-Skeeter."  
  
"Okay," mumbled Scorpius. Albus sent him a sharp look, but Scorpius was staring sullenly at the floor.  
  
"All right, boys, you may go."  
  
"Goodbye, Professor McGonagall, Professor Longbottom," said Albus. Scorpius didn't say a word all the way back down the winding stairs. As soon as they reached the foot Albus turned on him.  
  
"What was that about? Why were you so rude?"  
  
" _Me_ , rude?" Scorpius laughed unpleasantly. "That's rich. _I'm_ rude, but they're not? 'Oh, you're a Slytherin and a Malfoy, so we won't believe you unless someone more trustworthy vouches for you!' The epitome of politeness, I don't think!"  
  
"Let me get this right - you're angry because I stood up for you?"  
  
"I'm angry because you had to!" shouted Scorpius. "Why wasn't my word good enough for them?"  
  
"Oh, maybe it was the way you mentioned having a death wish on the boy who's missing?" Albus rolled his eyes. "Get a grip, Scorpius. They wouldn't have taken it kindly if _I'd_ said that either."  
  
"It was true! Aren't you the great defender of truth and justice?"  
  
"Yes, which is why I got you out of trouble back there." Albus was swiftly tiring of this conversation. "I'm going back to the Clubroom to see if Raymond's left any more messages. You coming?"  
  
"No." Scorpius turned on his heel and strode away. Albus shivered. He'd never seen Scorpius in such a black temper.  
  
It was nearing dinnertime when Scorpius entered the Clubhouse. Albus had nearly given up on seeing him again that day. He'd just been considering writing Scorpius a note to apologise - though for what Albus wasn't sure. He dearly wanted to clear the air and was regretting his own sharp words, but he knew he wasn't in the wrong. The whole debacle had set his nerves on edge.  
  
Scorpius looked like a changed boy. His eyes were bright and his cheeks a brilliant hue - not the deep scarlet of rage, but a rosy pink. "Albus, you won't believe this," he said.  
  
"Try me," said Albus.  
  
Scorpius drew a shoebox out of his pocket and placed it on the table. He lifted off the lid to reveal a small dark animal curled up inside. Albus, mindful of his allergies, backed off with his hand over his nose. He quickly cast an Air Purifying Charm. "What is that?" he honked, with his fingers pinching his nostrils shut.  
  
"It looks like a vole," said Scorpius.   
  
"If you say so," said Albus, who was no naturalist.  
  
"No, I mean it's a disguise. Watch."   
  
Scorpius backed away from the table to stand beside Albus. Despite his blocked nose, it smelled to Albus very much as if the little vole had been incontinent quite recently. He opened his mouth to demand a fuller explanation from Scorpius when a flash of blue-white light distracted him. He blinked away the after-glare and nearly fell over in surprise. Sitting on the table was none other than Raymond Cresswell-Skeeter, who was looking exceptionally fed up.  
  
"I think I know what it is," muttered Scorpius. "People can change into animals, they're called Animagi -"  
  
"I know, McGonagall is one!" Albus stared at Raymond with mingled admiration and disapproval. "But he's underage."  
  
"No, I'm not," said Raymond. "And neither is Penwyn. We're both registered - check if you like."  
  
"Penwyn is an Animagus too?" said Albus, confused.   
  
"Er ... yeah," said Raymond, biting his lip.  
  
"So _that's_ how you know so much about everyone." Scorpius jabbed the duplicated parchment with his wand. "You change into animals and spy on them!"  
  
"Don't sound so outraged," drawled Raymond. "Surely they give you lessons in sneakery down in the dungeons?"  
  
"Yeah, they do," said Scorpius. "That's why no Slytherin Animagus would be stupid enough to get caught by a _kitten_!"  
  
Raymond looked discomfited. Albus grinned. "You don't mean Jewel -"  
  
"Yep. He was playing with this little squeaking thing when I got back to my bedroom. I put it in a box to release outside tomorrow, but it seems like Raymond here can't keep up his Animagus form indefinitely. He changed back for an instant - just a second, but that was enough."  
  
"Listen, chaps, there seems to have been a misunderstanding." Raymond slid off the table. "You've had your fun, but I think I'll be off now."  
  
"I don't think so," said Scorpius. He was smiling, but the smile sent shivers down Albus' spine. It clearly didn't have a much more positive effect on Raymond. "I'd like an explanation for what you were doing in my dormitory."  
  
"I got lost." Raymond shrugged, spreading his palms helplessly. "Things look different from a vole's point of view."  
  
"Really? Then I wonder why you were able to find my box of letters from home, tip it over and drag some of them under the bed before my cat caught you." Scorpius was tapping his arm with his wand, which began spitting out little orange sparks that gouged holes in the table. Raymond's eyes widened. "That's certainly an interesting coincidence. From a vole's point of view, what were you planning to do with them? Make a nest?"  
  
"Now look here, you two," spluttered Raymond. "I don't have to explain myself to a bunch of kids -"  
  
"No, you don't." The sparks shooting from Scorpius' wand were growing bigger. "You can explain to McGonagall instead - explain how you've been spying on people for years, probably long before you were registered Animagi. Explain why you were snooping through my personal belongings. Oh, and you can explain all about how you've been selling stories to the _Prophet_. I'm sure she'd be fascinated to hear _that_."  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about," said Raymond, who was white to the lips.  
  
"Neither do I," said Albus, baffled. "Care to explain, Scorpius?"  
  
"I found a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ in the common room the other day." Scorpius took a battered scrap of newsprint out of his robes. "There was an article about Yasmin Chatterji by Rita Skeeter. It's horrible - all about McGonagall flying in the face of ancient traditions and bullying parents. Seems McGonagall stopped Yasmin's father from taking her out of school because she was dating Doug Boot. I thought it was a bit strange that Skeeter knew about it. Then Titania found out that the V-man was Raymond Cresswell-Skeeter and it all fell into place."  
  
"It's not against school rules to talk to your own mother!" Raymond glared at Scorpius. "Your own record isn't exactly snow-white, Malfoy. Fighting and attempted murder -"  
  
Scorpius snarled incoherently. Albus threw his arm across Scorpius' chest to stop him attacking Raymond. "If you're going to be a tabloid journalist when you leave school, you'd better learn to stick to reliable sources," he said to Raymond. "If anyone's guilty of attempted murder it's James - he used to force-feed me mudpies when we were babies."   
  
"I don't see what -" began Raymond.  
  
"Did I say you could speak?" said Albus. "You make a valid point or two. You haven't broken any school rules, so we can't report you. You _have_ broken rules of honour, so we _will_ bury you. Now, you can agree to stop these stupid conversations forever, after you formally apologise to my friend Scorpius for making up those heinous lies about him. Or we can lock you in here until we find a way to permanently transform you into a vole, at which point we'll feed you to the Great Squid."  
  
"You're despicable, Potter," spat Raymond. "This is what comes of consorting with people outside your House, of mixing with _Slytherins_. Listen to yourself! You even _sound_ like him." He jabbed a shaking finger in Scorpius' direction.  
  
"No," said Albus. "I sound like me - Albus Potter, the Hufflepuff."  
  
"You! You're no Hufflepuff. You're a disgrace to your House, to your -"  
  
A resounding crack cut through Raymond's diatribe. His eyes bulged for a moment before he toppled sideways, crumpling gently on to a rug. His fall revealed Titania standing behind him, holding _Advanced Enchantments for the Enterprising Sorcerer_. She lifted the skirt of her robe delicately to prevent it touching Raymond's legs as she hopped across his prone form.  
  
"I'm starting to see what you like about this book, Scorpius," she said, dusting off the cover. Her smirk changed to a frown as she took in Albus' and Scorpius' expressions. "What? My sister is a Slytherin. It's not a _disease_. I just knocked a bit of sense into him."  
  
"You're fantastic," croaked Scorpius.  
  
"Yes, I know," said Titania smugly. "I'm also starving. Let's drag this git into the hallway and go see if there's anything left for dinner."  
  
"We should probably tell McGonagall that he's been found," said Albus, not without reluctance.  
  
Scorpius shook his head grimly. "Someone will stumble across him soon enough. With any luck it'll be a Slytherin who'll leave him for dead."  
  
"With any luck it'll be a Slytherin who'll help him to the infirmary," countered Albus. Scorpius' scowl was chased from his face by a tiny grin.   
  
"Usually they're the same person," he said.   
  
"I know," said Albus, slinging his arm around Scorpius' shoulder. With Titania skipping ahead, they entered the Great Hall - together.


	5. Chapter 5

_Be in me as the eternal moods  
of the bleak wind, and not  
As transient things are –  
gaiety of flowers.  
Have in me the strong loneliness  
of sunless cliffs  
And of grey waters.  
Let the gods speak softly of us   
In days hereafter._  
(Ezra Pound)  
  
Albus had been banging his hands together all the way up from the Entrance Hall, but the snow hadn’t fallen off his gloves yet. Albus wouldn’t have been even a little surprised to learn that it was enchanted snow, designed to stick to everything it touched in general and to the sponge-like robes of detention students specifically.   
  
His teeth were chattering like castanets by the time he found the safe haven of the Clubhouse. All four of his friends were relaxing inside, enjoying their last evening at Hogwarts for 2016. Norma was the first to look up, and she frowned at the puddles Albus was dripping into the floor.  
  
“You look like a dirty icicle,” she said, and scooted over so he could take her place nearest the fire.  
  
“I may look like an icicle, but I feel like a glacier.” Albus hissed at the pain as he held out his freezing hands to the fire.   
  
“Here’s your wand.” Rambo closed _Twenty Amazing Things You Can Do With Twigs, If You Have Enough of Them_. He pulled Albus’ wand out of his robes’ pocket. “Scorpius stopped me from sitting on it twice, but I think it’s okay.”  
  
Albus pointed his wand at the fire, which sparked blue for a second. “Yeah, it’s fine. Besides, it has some pretty powerful anti-breakage charms on it.”  
  
“Ollivander doesn’t use anti-breakage charms,” said Scorpius from a darkened hammock. “I read somewhere that he considers that they interfere with the caster’s magic.”  
  
“Well, this isn’t an Ollivander – it’s a Lovegood,” said Albus. “She’s noted for experimenting with her wands, so whatever she learned from Ollivander she probably improved on.”  
  
Scorpius snorted. “I wouldn’t trust a Lovegood wand as far as I could spit it.”  
  
“Then it’s a good thing you don’t have to,” said Albus. He caught Titania’s eye and they both shared a long-suffering look. Scorpius had been extremely antsy all week, snapping at the least provocation and inventing arguments out of the air.   
  
Everyone else in their group, as well as the rest of the castle, was delighted at the thought of going home. Even those staying behind anticipated a good time. Professor Longbottom had instituted a new tradition for dressing the Hogwarts Christmas trees: each House got to decorate three. Albus was quite proud of the tree he and the three youngest years of Hufflepuff had decorated. With the aid of the Charms Club members, they’d transformed ordinary gravel into sparkling amber teardrops the size of Albus’ head. These they’d all helped to hang in the branches. Albus had been the one to come up with the idea of enchanting snow to fall continuously in little showers, although he hadn’t created the magic. He’d been far better disposed towards snow before he’d been forced to spend three hours outside shovelling it.   
  
Albus gathered that, in Slytherin House, there’d been a lottery to decide who got to decorate the Slytherin trees. Scorpius had failed to make the cut, but most of the first-years hadn’t, Norma included – and she wasn’t remotely in the doldrums about it. Albus was ready to admit that their system worked on one level, for the Slytherin trees were surely the most magnificent of all (no matter how many denied it). He personally preferred the Hufflepuff way of doing things, but that was why he’d been Sorted there.   
  
The decorating exclusion wasn’t the root of Scorpius’ bad mood, Albus was sure of it. He hadn’t dared to probe since he’d asked Scorpius if he was all right, and Scorpius had said, “Of course I’m bloody all right, you idiot – do I look like I have anything wrong with me?” before storming off. That had been four days ago, and by now everyone was heartily sick of him.  
  
“So, what did Penwyn make you do this time?” asked Norma, after an uncomfortable little silence had passed.  
  
“Handed me over to Goyle,” said Albus. Titania and Rambo shuddered in tandem. The scowling, foul-tempered caretaker was loathed by all except the Slytherins, to whom he displayed a small measure of fondness. And even the Slytherins merely tolerated him, most of them having a greater regard for personal hygiene than Goyle. “He made me shovel paths through the snow by hand. It wouldn’t have been so bad if they actually went anywhere, but he just took me to one of the rooftop courtyards where no one ever goes. As soon as I’d shovelled from one end to the other, he filled it in and made me do it again.” Albus sighed, looking down at his bright red fingers. “Still, he seemed to enjoy it, which made one of us.”  
  
“Penwyn and Raymond can’t keep this up forever,” said Titania comfortingly.  
  
“No – just until they leave school next _June_ ,” said Albus. “Hey, can one of you do a Drying Charm on my robes? I don’t want to catch a cold.”  
  
They all waited a moment to see if Scorpius, the acknowledged proficient at Charms, would offer. But Scorpius remained obstinately silent, his face turned to the wall. Rambo volunteered instead, so Albus stood up and held out his arms. The resulting blast from Rambo’s wand made Albus feel like he’d just been transported to the surface of the sun. He put a hand up to his hair and felt it crackle.  
  
Norma giggled. “You look like you’ve just been electrocuted.”  
  
“What’s that?” said Albus. He smoothed down his robe, trying not to betray his horror as sparks leapt between his fingers.  
  
“I’m sorry.” Rambo wore a penitent look that, after four months of classes with him, Albus knew very well. Every teacher swung between amazement at Rambo’s raw power and worry at his total incapability of controlling it. “I tried to make my magic as small as possible, but obviously it didn’t work.”  
  
“Obviously,” came Scorpius’ scathing voice from the shadows. “Albus, get back from the fire. If you go any redder the house elves will turn you into tomato soup.”  
  
Albus grit his teeth to restrain himself from beating Scorpius around the ear with his wand. “It’s okay, Rambo. I feel a lot warmer now.” He cast about for another topic of conversation. “Ti, did you remember to get _The Dragon’s Gullet_ out of the library for me?”  
  
Titania clapped her hands to her mouth. “I forgot! Oh no.”  
  
“I’ll get it out in the morning.” Albus waved his hand to shush her. “Besides, I asked Mum and Dad to buy it as a Christmas present.”  
  
“What are you getting, Norma?” asked Rambo. Norma looked thoughtful.  
  
“Well, I asked for a Poisoner’s Starter Kit, but I’ve asked for that the last three years running and never got it,” she said. “Mum and Dad think I’m joking. So maybe a new broomstick for next year.”  
  
“Our old ones are getting rather small,” Titania agreed. “Maybe Aunt Hannah –”  
  
“I have to finish packing,” announced Scorpius. He kicked back the hammock so hard all the pillows fell on the floor and stalked out. The door slammed behind him, shaking the windows in their frames.   
  
Albus felt the tension drain out of his shoulders. “Okay, does anyone have any idea what’s wrong with that boy?”  
  
“We thought _you’d_ know,” said Norma. “You are his best friend.”  
  
“You live with him,” Albus pointed out.  
  
“Only nominally – we spend more time here than in our common room, and we don’t exactly share dormitories. Slytherin may be insubordinate, but it’s not _that_ insubordinate.”  
  
“I’ve got nothing,” said Albus. “You don’t suppose he ... doesn’t want to go home?”  
  
He saw his own concern echoed in the fire-lit faces around him. Each and every one of them was greatly looking forward to seeing their families, celebrating the year’s end and mostly opening presents. The only fly in Albus’ soup was the prospect of being cooped up in the same house as James once more, and the others didn’t even have that to mar their enjoyment.   
  
“He could always stay here,” said Titania at last. “Lots of people do ... the OWL and NEWT students especially ...”  
  
“It wouldn’t be much fun unless we were there,” said Albus. “I’d stay to keep him company, but I really want to go home, too.”  
  
“I’ve been looking forward to going home for weeks,” admitted Rambo, and Norma nodded.  
  
“Listen, we can all write to him lots,” she said. “Rambo, you could borrow a school owl for the holidays. We’ll get his address tomorrow morning, before we leave. It’s the best we can do at short notice.”  
  
Albus agreed. He wanted to feel sorrier for Scorpius than he did, but Scorpius’ recent behaviour had tested his patience to the limits. If only Scorpius would just _talk_ to him. As Albus sat by the fire, trying to pretend he wasn’t sniffling with the beginnings of a cold, his resolution grew. Tomorrow he would corner Scorpius and demand to know what was wrong with him. It was the very least Scorpius owed him, as a friend.  
  
The Guardian shelf rang out for curfew. Albus patted Mouse as he was leaving. Mouse would be safer here than at home, within reach of James’ wiles.   
  
“Hey, look,” said Titania, picking up a book from the shelf under the Guardian’s. “It’s Scorpius’ copy of _The Dragon’s Gullet_. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you borrowed it – I’ve never even seen him open it.”  
  
As Albus took the book from her, he saw that it was true. The spine was smooth as cream, the pages as fresh as if they’d come straight from a printer’s. Albus had his own doubts about Scorpius’ willingness to let him borrow the book, even if he had shown about as much interest in it as a dead insect, but he took it anyway.   
  
“I’ll ask him tomorrow,” he promised himself.   
  
He didn’t linger in the Hufflepuff common room once he’d arrived. In the last few weeks, Penwyn and Raymond had made it their aim to accost him at every opportunity and lumber him with pointless detentions. He’d already accrued six, in addition to the two he’d previously served. He was dreading having to explain that to his parents, especially as James had doubtless already informed them.   
  
Since Titania had knocked Raymond out, the two seventh-years had been on the warpath. Albus was given to understand that a stern talking-to from the Headmistress had put a definitive end to their conversations on the Never-ending Parchment. This had come about before Raymond apologised to Scorpius, if he was ever intending to. Not realising that Titania had been involved, and not having easy access to Scorpius, the brunt of their ire fell on Albus. Titania and Rambo had both offered to confess to their complicity, but Albus saw no reason why they should all suffer. Besides, the whole thing had been his idea from the beginning.  
  
Albus made it to his dormitory detention-free. Rambo was in the bathroom, cleaning his teeth. Conan and Eoghan were already abed, exhausted from the festivities that had been raging in the common room and beyond since classes ended. Eoghan was snoring like a hippopotamus, as always. Albus once more reminded himself to get a Sound-Proofing Spell from Aunt Hermione at the first opportunity.  
  
He flicked through _The Dragon’s Gullet_ once before laying it in his trunk. His eye was caught by a handwritten dedication on the fly-page. Under the printed inscription, _Another one for my son_ , which appeared in every book, were the words:  
  
 _Dear Scorpius: here is your advance copy, as always. I hope that you will enjoy it. I miss you every day, as does your mother. This book carries both our love. Stay safe. Father._  
  
The cogs in Albus’ brain began to whir. An advance copy from Scorpius’ father could only mean one thing: either that he worked with VD Wallflower, or that he _was_ VD Wallflower.  
  
Albus’ delight at the discovery was promptly quenched when he recalled Scorpius’ attitude towards the book. _Never even opened it_ , Titania had said; and not one mention of his father’s literary achievements had passed Scorpius’ lips. Albus could understand the need for famous people to keep their privacy – Dad had fought in the last Great War and for some reason people were always pestering him about it. But for Scorpius not to confide in his closest friends – that was almost cruel.  
  
Resolutely, Albus folded the book in a spare robe. Tomorrow, he vowed. Tomorrow.  
  
+_+_+  
  
Albus galloped down the stairs to the Entrance Hall, his trunk thumping behind him on every step. His robes were askew, his hair was unspeakable, and he was _late_.  
  
The Entrance Hall was awash with people of all sizes, from teachers vainly trying to maintain order and parents in robes of every hue, to small siblings come to welcome their brothers and sisters home. Albus caught a glimpse of Lily’s beflowered pumps and hared after them.  
  
His parents were standing near the door, Dad’s hand resting lightly on Mum’s back. Albus’ face broke into a huge smile. “Dad!” he yelled. Despite the roar of noise, Dad’s head turned towards Albus. When he spotted his son, Dad left Mum’s side and held out his arms.  
  
“You’re not too grown-up for a hug, are you?” he asked.  
  
“Of course not,” said Albus joyfully, and buried his head in Dad’s chest. He could feel Mum’s hand in his hair, smell her lilac perfume. After a minute he wriggled away – it was hard to talk into Dad’s robes.  
  
“Sorry I’m late,” he said. “My dorm-mate Eoghan turned off all the alarms last night because he’s not leaving till four o’clock and he wanted to sleep in –”  
  
“Don’t worry about it, love,” laughed Mum. “We’re still waiting for James to show. We caught Rose and she told us he’s saying goodbye to hordes of admirers.”  
  
Albus rolled his eyes. Of course James couldn’t have bid farewell to his friends last night, like a normal person. “In that case, I have one more person to say goodbye to. Can I?”  
  
“Make it quick,” Dad advised. “You know James’ll want to be off the moment he’s finished. And if you see your little sister and Hugo, please tell them to come find us. I don’t trust James not to forget about them.” He smiled at Mum as if it were a joke, although Albus knew it wasn’t.  
  
“I will,” said Albus, so Dad heard. He left his trunk with them and wriggled back through the crowd.  
  
His search for Scorpius proved fruitless and, as the minutes ticked away, Albus started to worry about keeping Mum and Dad waiting. He didn’t care so much about James, although he knew James would whine about it all the way home.   
  
He was on the point of turning back for the door when he spotted a tall blonde man deep in conversation with a wizened house elf. Many parents had brought their servants with them to help with the luggage, so it was not that which made Albus stop and stare. Rather, it was the man’s remarkable similarity to Scorpius. Just so did Scorpius stand when he was impatient, with his arms crossed and his mouth tightened. Their bone structure matched exactly, down to the long, narrow nose and triangular chin. Although this man’s hair was straight and somewhat faded, he couldn’t but be Scorpius’ father.  
  
Fingering Scorpius’ copy of _The Dragon’s Gullet_ , which reposed in his pocket, Albus quickly smoothed down his hair and walked over to the man. He waited politely for the man to finish chastising his house elf and notice Albus, which he did in due course.  
  
“May I do something for you, young man?” asked the blonde wizard. His narrowed eyes were stormcloud grey to Scorpius’ midnight blue, but otherwise identical in expression.  
  
“Yes – I couldn’t help noticing – are you Scorpius’ dad?” Albus cursed his fumbling words. There was something disapproving, even hateful, in the man’s gaze.   
  
“I am Draco Malfoy, yes. You’re a Potter.”  
  
“Albus Potter.” Albus remembered his manners and held out his hand to shake. “Pleased to meet you, Mr Malfoy.”  
  
Albus watched in astonishment as Mr Malfoy’s face worked rapidly, a variety of strange expressions flickering over it. At last, Mr Malfoy briefly touched palms with Albus and snatched his hand away as if it had been burned.  
  
“I was hoping to say goodbye to Scorpius,” said Albus. “Is he here?”  
  
“I’m afraid not,” said Mr Malfoy. “He has already started the journey home with my wife. Mopsy and I stayed behind to sort out his luggage, which it appears he has not even packed.”  
  
“That’s odd,” said Albus, frowning. “He said last night he was going to finish it off.”  
  
“Last night – forgive me, Po – Albus, but are you friends with my son?”  
  
“Oh, yes.” Albus smiled, a trifle confused. Scorpius’ letters home must be incredibly uninformative. “We’re best friends, although Rambo Dursley is also my best friend. My other best friend. Um.” He slipped _The Dragon’s Gullet_ out of his pocket. “I borrowed this from Scorpius. I was wondering if you’d return it to him for me.”  
  
“Of course.” Mr Malfoy took the book from Albus and made to turn away.  
  
“Please, Mr Malfoy – I couldn’t help reading the inscription. Are _you_ VD Wallflower? Or do you know him? I’m such a big fan.”  
  
“You are a fan of VD Wallflower?”  
  
Albus nodded enthusiastically. “He’s awesome! I used to pretend I was Berto Blastnoggin all the time. In _Bearding the Lion_ , when he faces down a griffin with just a net of Billywig leaves –”  
  
“Albus, _there_ you are. We’ve been looking for you every –” Dad’s voice trailed off, and when he spoke again he sounded like he was choking on something. “Malfoy.”  
  
“Potter.” Mr Malfoy looked over Albus’ head, staring at Dad. James was hanging off Mum’s arm, complaining that he was hungry, but for once Mum paid him no mind. A small hand found its way into Albus’. He looked down at Lily’s worried face.  
  
“We thought you’d got lost,” she whispered.  
  
“Don’t worry, I can’t get lost in Hogwarts,” he said. “And neither will you, when you come here.”  
  
Lily smiled and snuggled against his side. Mr Malfoy had turned back to his house elf and Dad and Mum were sharing one of their Grown-Ups Only looks. James had already started to move Mum towards the door. Albus reached out and tugged Mr Malfoy’s sleeve. Lily hid her face in Albus’ arm when Mr Malfoy glared down at him.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“I hope Scorpius will write to me,” said Albus. He fished out a scrap of parchment and pressed it into Mr Malfoy’s hand. “He never gave me his address, but here’s mine.”   
  
“I’ll see that he gets it.”   
  
“Thanks.” Albus smiled jubilantly. “Merry Christmas!”  
  
“Merry Christmas,” echoed Mr Malfoy.  
  
Albus led Lily to the courtyard, where Dad’s green Buick was waiting. Lily climbed into Mum’s lap in the front seat, where Hugo was already ensconced. Rose and James were deep in conversation in the back seat.  
  
Dad’s eyes were troubled. He put a hand on Albus’ shoulder to stop him getting in the car. He opened his mouth to say something, but appeared to change his mind. He shook his head instead.  
  
“You’re a good boy,” he said at last. “Brave, too.”  
  
“Not really. Hufflepuffs are loyal, not brave. And there’s all the detentions I got...”  
  
“We’ll discuss those when we get home,” said Dad. He paused. “That – Scorpius. He didn’t get you into trouble, did he? He’s not why you got so many detentions?”  
  
“No,” said Albus. “Actually, I was the one getting him into trouble. But I didn’t mean to, I swear. I can explain.”  
  
“I hope so.” Dad still looked confused, but his eyes were warm. “It sounds like an explanation well worth hearing.”   
  
+_+_+  
  
Albus tugged at the itchy collar of his new dress robes. Beside him, James did the same, and Albus instantly desisted. Lily was the only one who took pleasure in the new clothes, but even for her they were not without hazard. She’d been spinning around so often to make her skirt twirl that she’d nearly got sick.  
  
Mum’s delight had been unalloyed. They all wore versions of the same robes: peacock blue with gold leaves stitched around the hems, with sashes of pale blue for the girls, and belts of interlocking hands for the boys. “We look like a _family_ ,” she’d gushed. Albus had longed to ask what they’d looked like before – a group of unrelated monkeys? But it was an unspoken rule that there was to be no fighting on Christmas Day. Even he and James maintained an uneasy truce, helped by the fact that Christmas dinner was always a lavish affair that provided plenty of distraction.   
  
The location of the Christmas feast varied from year to year, depending on which Weasley sibling’s turn it was to host it. This year, it was the Potters’. At the very least, they expected Bill and Fleur Weasley with their two daughters; Percy and Penelope Weasley with their sons, Telemachus and Wulfric; Ron and Hermione Weasley with their two children; George and Charlie Weasley with whatever guests they chose to bring; Teddy Lupin with his grandmother; Grandma and Grandpa Weasley; the Delacours; the Grangers; and the Clearwaters. Most often friends of the hosts’ would come as well, to flesh out an already full-bodied celebration. Mum and Dad had been working flat out all week to prepare. The house was spotless, the decorations were suitably splendid, and the magically extended dining table was groaning with all manner of good things. James had already sneaked three cheese puffs, a crime he was sure to lay at Albus’ door unless Albus tattled on him first.  
  
A hundred guests seemed to arrive at once, chattering loudly and shaking snow off their cloaks. The three junior Potters, whose job it was to collect these cloaks and hang them in the closet, scampered to and fro like rabbits. James soon sloped off with Rose and the Percy Weasleys. Lily trotted around like a little trooper, but she was starting to look tired and grouchy. Albus sent her off to find Hugo and Teddy, with whom she was an especial favourite, before she threw a tantrum.  
  
Albus remained at his post, even as the sounds of conversation and the smell of hors d’oeurves beckoned to him from the sitting room. At last the flow of people slowed to a trickle. Albus opened the door to what he hoped would be the last guest, and saw Uncle George on the doorstep.  
  
“Merry Christmas!” said Albus. “Come in. May I take your cloak?”  
  
“You certainly may.” Uncle George smiled. The movement tugged at the ugly red scar tissue around his ear. James and Rose thought it was disgusting, and Lily was a little frightened of it. Albus couldn’t say he thought the scar beautiful, but there was something fascinating in its very revoltingness. And if you bothered to look past it, you saw that Uncle George had very sad eyes.  
  
Albus hung Uncle George’s cloak in the closet. When he returned to the front door, Uncle George was still there, hovering near the entrance to the sitting room.  
  
“Do you want to get some hors d’oeurves with me?” asked Albus encouragingly. “If we’re lucky James won’t have scoffed all the cheese puffs.”  
  
“I’d like that,” said Uncle George. He ruffled Albus’ hair, which Albus hated because it meant a scolding from Mum for not brushing it properly. But he didn’t mind, especially when Uncle George’s longer reach secured the last tray of cheese puffs and pulled them away from James’ grasping fingers.  
  
They took a seat in an armchair tucked away from the bustle of the main party. Uncle George cast a quick Engorgement Charm so that the armchair easily fit the two of them. Albus was pleased to have company. He always felt a bit left out at family gatherings. Marie-Jeanette, Victoire, Teddy and Telemachus formed one group; James, Rose and Wulfric another. Lily and Hugo were best friends. Usually Uncle George was monopolised by either Aunt Fleur or Aunt Hermione, demanding to know why he hadn’t brought a date. It was a treat for Albus to have someone all to himself.  
  
“Tell me about school,” said Uncle George. “Are you friends with Rose?”  
  
Albus shook his head. “Nope. We’re ... we don’t have much in common.”  
  
Uncle George chuckled. “I’m not surprised. She’s as bossy as her mother, and she’s picked up snobbery from Ron like a virus. Still, she might grow out of it.”  
  
“I hope so.” Albus liked the way Uncle George talked to him like an equal. “I’m sure she’d be a nice girl if she didn’t have so many airs and graces. But that’s why she and James get on so well. _My_ friends aren’t like that.”  
  
“And whose kids are in Hufflepuff these days?”  
  
“Rambo Dursley and Titania Abbott are my friends in Hufflepuff. Rambo sent me some pictures.” Albus pulled out a sheaf of Muggle photographs from within his robes. He showed them to Uncle George. One was of Rambo with his parents: a burly man with a broken nose and a thatch of yellow hair, and a painfully thin woman with the faded face of what had once been great beauty. They were standing outside a handsome white house with a spectacular garden and beaming down at their son. Another picture captured Rambo with his dog, an iron-grey Great Dane called Boxer.  
  
“Dursley ... that sounds familiar,” mused Uncle George.  
  
“Yeah, see Rambo’s dad, there?” Albus pointed. “He’s Dad’s cousin. Dad never told me about him.”  
  
Uncle George’s eyes widened. “I’m not surprised. Dudley Dursley? And you say you’re friends with his son?”  
  
“I am. Why, is that wrong? Do you know why didn’t Dad tell me about his cousin?”  
  
“He lived with the Dursleys when he was young,” said Uncle George, “and he didn’t have a great time there. Rambo’s grandparents were not very nice people. But it’s not really my story to tell. What about this Rambo chap? What’s he like?”  
  
“He’s terribly powerful,” said Albus proudly. “Professor McGonagall says she hasn’t seen such strong magic in all her years of teaching. He’s terrible at Herbology, though, ‘cause he hates getting his hands dirty.”  
  
“Curiouser and curiouser,” murmured Uncle George.  
  
“Titania and Norma sent me that card.” Albus waved his hand at a huge creation taking pride of place on the mantelpiece. It was three inches thick in feathers that the twins had collected from their mother’s aviary – some, Albus suspected, by force. Inside, Norma had written: _Here’s hoping for that poisoner’s kit at last!_ “And Scorpius sent me –”  
  
“Scorpius?” said Uncle George sharply. “As in Draco Malfoy’s son?”  
  
Albus was getting very tired of this reaction. “Yes,” he snapped. “As in Scorpius Malfoy, Draco Malfoy’s son and my very best friend.”  
  
“Isn’t he –”  
  
“Yes, he’s a Slytherin,” said Albus. “And so is Norma. Guess what? Having friends in other Houses isn’t against the law!” He clenched his hand around Scorpius’ gift. “I expected a better reaction from _you_.”  
  
“And why’s that?” A thunderous expression chased the kindness from Uncle George’s face.  
  
Albus scowled. “You know what? I don’t know! I just thought you’d be different.”  
  
He stomped off to a shadowy alcove by the stairs. He felt hot and irritable, and not all of that was due to his constricting collar. He brushed Scorpius’ bookmark against the tips of his fingers. It had helped to calm him down before; the touch of the soft leather had a strangely soothing effect.   
  
Although Albus had been in regular contact with Rambo and the twins since the holidays began, none of them had heard hide nor hair from Scorpius until his tawny owl tapped at Albus’ window. It carried nothing but the hand-tooled bookmark wrapped in silver tissue paper – not even a note to go with it. The bookmark itself was a treasure, milk-white leather covered over in an intricate design Albus recognised as Scorpius’ own. It looked as if it had been carefully scorched into the leather. The owl had taken flight as soon as Albus retrieved the package, so Albus couldn’t even send a thank-you note. The Christmas card he’d sent to Scorpius had come back with an ‘Unable to Locate’ stamp from the Owl Office.   
  
He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn’t notice Uncle George’s approach. He startled when Uncle George sat down on the floor beside him, his long legs incongruously sprawled in front of him.  
  
“The wizarding world’s a small place,” he said. “Prejudices have a long time to fester and nowhere to go. You spent so long in France that maybe you haven’t realised yet just how small England really is, and how miniscule the wizarding community. Draco Malfoy was one of my enemies, but it doesn’t mean Scorpius Malfoy must be one of yours.”  
  
“I should hope not,” sniffed Albus. “The Great War ended nearly twenty years ago. You’re allowed to stop fighting it.”  
  
“That’s easier said than done,” sighed Uncle George. “I wanted to give you something, to make up for earlier.”  
  
“I’d rather you stopped judging people just because of their names,” said Albus stubbornly.   
  
“Take it anyway, to make me feel better.” Uncle George tipped a lacquered box into Albus’ lap. “I was going to give this to James, but ... anyway, you might need it more. Open it.”  
  
Albus obeyed. The lid was screwed on tight and he struggled for a moment before it popped off. Inside were hundreds of tiny, quivering blobs. Albus touched one and it morphed before his eyes, turning the same peacock-blue as his robes and extending little pseudopodia.  
  
“They’re Dysentery Drops,” said Uncle George. “Designed to give any enemy severe digestive discomfort for six hours or more. All you have to do is touch one with your wand, whisper the name of the victim and ‘Run’, and it’ll find them. Provided they’re within a hundred feet of you,” he added. “I’m still working on extending their movement capabilities.”  
  
Albus balanced one in his palm. It instantly became the exact shade of his skin, right down to a dark-brown freckle or two. “They’re _cool_.”  
  
“I like to think so,” said Uncle George. “I’m developing a new range of sickening sweets. The Lunchbox line needs jazzing up.”  
  
“Thank you, Uncle George.” Albus popped the Drop back in its box and gave Uncle George an impulsive hug. Uncle George laughed in surprise and hugged back.  
  
The doorbell rang. “Gosh, they’re late,” said Albus. “I’d better get their cloaks.”  
  
“I’ll fetch us some more snacks, eh?”  
  
“Great idea!” Albus sprinted for the door and yanked it open, breathless. “Welcome and Merry Christmas!”  
  
“Thanks,” slurred the sandy-haired man standing on the doorstep. He had his arm slung around a buxom witch in low-cut pink robes. Most of her lipstick was on the man’s mouth. “Cherry Mistmas to you too, son.”  
  
“Seamus, you’re drunk!” giggled the witch.  
  
“So are you, me love.” Seamus kissed her soundly on the mouth and Albus drew back, revolted. Dad appeared at the door to the sitting room.  
  
“You made it!” Dad said. Albus didn’t miss how he winced at the fumes on Seamus’ breath when they shook hands. “And who’s this lovely lady?”  
  
“Amanda something,” said Seamus.  
  
“Annette Wilcox,” said the giggly witch. She kissed Dad on both cheeks, leaving behind stripes of war paint.   
  
“You’re very welcome,” said Dad. Albus recognised the tone. Dad used it on such phrases as ‘Your room is such a haven of cleanliness’ and ‘Pulling hair is the best way to resolve an argument,’ in a way that meant the exact opposite. He spotted Albus. “Take Seamus and Annette’s cloaks to the closet, please.”  
  
Albus nodded mutely and let his arms be filled with the sodden wool. He didn’t leave for the closet straightaway; instead he remained, and watched Seamus until he was out of sight. There was something familiar about Seamus’ face. Albus remembered the picture of his mother Conan kept on his trunk. She was a mousy-haired, sweet-faced little woman – barely pretty despite her loving expression. Albus compared her to Annette’s brazen good looks and felt his blood boil.  
  
“Ah, there’s Seamus and his latest squeeze,” said Uncle George, a snarl in his voice. “I wonder if he’ll knock her up too, or have ten bastards taught him the value of a Contraceptive Charm?”  
  
“My dorm-mate, Conan – he looks like –”  
  
Uncle George shook his head. “A very small place, Albus. The wizarding world’s a _very_ small place.”


	6. Chapter 6

_Never love unless you can  
Bear with all the faults of man:  
Men sometimes will jealous be  
Though but little cause they see;  
And hang the head as discontent,  
And speak what straight they will repent._  
(Thomas Campion)  
  
Valentine’s Day 2017 dawned suspiciously bright and sunny. Albus was not the only one to be woken by a probing ray of light on his eyelids. Rambo muttered all the way through breakfast about the harmful effects of greenhouse gases on the planet’s delicate ecosystems. Albus listened with half an ear, squinting as the sky in the Great Hall bounced light off the glassware and melted the butter.  
  
The older years were terribly giddy. Disgruntled owls bedecked with ribbons flew through the corridors all day, bearing everything from simple cards to huge heart-shaped packages. Albus privately thought he’d die of mortification if something like that dropped on his desk.   
  
Few owls found their way into the first-year Slytherin/Hufflepuff classrooms. Titania reported that the prettiest girl in first-year, Ravenclaw Christine Ohtori, had received a winning total of three cards. However, all these were reputed to come from the same source: Gerrold Boot, who was Christine’s ‘boyfriend.’ As far as Albus knew, their relationship consisted of sharing the same desk and sitting beside each other at mealtimes. He found the idea of wasting time and energy on sending some girl a card totally baffling.   
  
James walked around with his pockets stuffed full of sweets in red cellophane bags. Albus couldn’t decide if he’d bought them himself, to either show off or distribute, or if he’d been given them. The idea that girls wanted to shower James with red cellophane sweets was even more baffling. In the end Albus concentrated on his classes with a singular devotion to duty that earned him a concerned ‘Are you feeling all right?’ from Professor Longbottom.  
  
Scorpius walked into the Clubhouse that evening sporting a small, darkening bruise on his cheek. It was almost perfectly round. Albus decided to brave Scorpius’ now near-permanent vindictiveness and inquire about it.  
  
“I banged into a shelf,” was Scorpius’ mumbled reply.  
  
“A circular shelf?”  
  
Scorpius hesitated, and said, “Yeah.” Even more surprisingly, he climbed into the hammock with Albus – something he hadn’t done in months – and hugged a pillow to his chest.  
  
A few moments later Norma arrived, looking disgustingly pleased with herself. Her parents had finally relented and given her a Poisoner’s Starter Kit for Christmas, on the proviso that she wasn’t to use it to actually poison anyone. She’d already worked out the kinks in the Dysentery Drops, by adding more magic and a simple tagging system. She’d figured out that giving the Drops a personal item belonging to the victim – hair, quills, leftover food – allowed them to track the person far more efficiently. Uncle George had been ecstatic and wanted to put Norma on staff immediately, until he realised she was eleven, at which point he said he’d hold her job open for a few years.  
  
Titania raised her eyebrows at her twin. Although they couldn’t read each other’s thoughts – much to Rambo’s disappointment – they did intuit hints in each other’s behaviour that no one else did, until it was too late. Ignoring her sister, Norma sashayed over to Rambo.   
  
“I got you a Valentine’s card,” she said. A quick flick of her wand sent an identical lime green envelope winging into Albus’ lap.   
  
“Thanks,” said Rambo, puzzled.   
  
A press against his elbow prevented Albus from opening his card straight away, but Rambo had no such warning. While Albus nudged Scorpius in return, hoping for a more detailed admonition, Rambo tore across the envelope flap and opened the card. The front was adorned with a scratchy heart in plain black ink, but none of them had time to appreciate Norma’s complete paucity of drawing skills. A round ball on a spring popped out of the middle of the card, hitting Rambo in the face so hard he fell over backwards.  
  
“That wasn’t funny!” bawled Titania, rushing over to Rambo to offer aid and succour. Aside from a slightly dazed expression and a red mark on his cheek, Rambo appeared unhurt.  
  
“Yes it was,” said Norma, entirely unrepentant. “I got Scorpius earlier. I don’t suppose you’re going to open yours?”  
  
“Not a chance,” said Albus hastily. He tossed his unopened envelope into the fire where, with an ominous sizzle, it imploded.  
  
Rubbing at his cheek, Rambo said, “Why’d you destroy it? I would have liked the chance to inspect the spring mechanism more closely.” He turned to Norma. “What spell did you use to power it?”  
  
“How about I show you?” said Norma. “I’ve got half a dozen more in my backpack.”   
  
Rambo scampered across to her, heartlessly abandoning his research into locking enchantments. The two of them were soon huddled over a pile of green envelopes. It appeared Rambo was giving Norma tips on how to improve the force of the spring.  
  
“Boy’s a glutton for punishment,” declared Titania. “I don’t suppose either of you is up for Exploding Snap?”  
  
Scorpius shook his head mutely. “I’m still growing my eyebrows back from last time,” said Albus.  
  
“Didn’t think so,” said Titania. “I guess this is a sign from the universe that I’m supposed to go back to the common room and finish my Charms essay.”  
  
“Gosh, Ti,” said Albus, amused, “even I’ve finished that.”  
  
“Thanks, I really needed to feel more guilty.” Titania got to her feet. “I’ll see you later. G’night, Scorpius.”  
  
Scorpius said nothing, but at this point neither Titania nor anyone else expected him to. Scorpius had accelerated from plain grumpy to incapable of polite interaction and disappeared into the wastelands beyond. Albus was the only one who persevered in trying to get him to open up, and even his determination was fraying at the edges.  
  
Albus would have been quite content to spend his last hour before bedtime in quiet contemplation, starting at the fire-pictures and listening to the low hum of Norma and Rambo’s plans for world domination. But the fact that Scorpius had willingly sat beside him was an opportunity too good to miss.   
  
“Have _you_ finished the Charms essay?” he asked, bracing himself for a scathing reply.  
  
“The day after it was assigned,” said Scorpius. “I ... like Charms.”  
  
This addendum encouraged Albus further. “What charm did you use on my bookmark?”  
  
Scorpius’ mouth quirked. “I didn’t use a charm on it.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
They sat in silence for a few moments while Albus drummed his fingers on his knee. Asking outright about what was bothering Scorpius had yielded precisely nothing in the past. Albus decided to try a subtler approach.  
  
“Are your parents okay?” he said. Scorpius started, his elbow jabbing Albus’ side rather painfully.  
  
“They’re fine. Why?”  
  
Albus shrugged. “I just wondered if they’re why you’ve been so bloody lately. I know that when my parents fight, everyone in the house gets upset.”  
  
“My parents never fight,” said Scorpius.  
  
“Seriously? Never ever?”  
  
“I’ve never seen them do it.”  
  
“Behind closed doors then,” said Albus. “It’s not normal not to argue. Look at the five of us.”  
  
“Oh, they _argue_ ,” said Scorpius. “About curtains and how flowers drop their petals because the house elves forget to put an Ever Fresh charm on them and what kind of soup to have at parties. But that’s not fighting.”  
  
“No,” Albus agreed. He probably would have agreed if Scorpius said his parents were trolls who roasted house elves over spits, he was so pleased to hear Scorpius speak in more than monosyllables. At least he could rule out familial discord as a cause of Scorpius’ problems.   
  
Norma gave a silvery laugh from her corner – always a portent of coming evil.   
  
“She got you too, then?” Albus swiped his fingers over Scorpius’ cheek. “I can’t believe you trusted her!”  
  
“I didn’t realise the card was from her,” said Scorpius, and he was – blushing? “It was stuffed into my desk with a couple of others.”  
  
“A couple of other what?” Albus wrinkled his forehead. “A couple of other _cards_? Holy cow, from who?”  
  
“Some of them were anonymous,” said Scorpius, blushing deeper. “One of them was from Christine.”  
  
“Christine _Ohtori_? Holy cow.” Albus searched for a better way to express his astonishment. “I mean, holy _cow_.”  
  
“Stop saying that,” complained Scorpius. “What are you, a Hindu?”  
  
Albus stared at his friend, who scowled and avoided his gaze. Valentine’s Day had seemed utterly pointless two minutes ago, but now Albus felt curiously left out. A card from Norma – even one without a violent attacking mechanism – didn’t count; it was like getting a card from your mother.   
  
Albus didn’t usually think about his friend’s appearances. Objectively, of course, he knew what they looked like: the twins with their pigtails sticking out like jug handles and eyes gleaming behind thick glasses, and Rambo who resembled a bleached hot dog. Albus could see that Scorpius had ash-blonde curls and large, thickly lashed blue eyes, set deep in his pale face, but he’d never put all that visual information together before in a way that spelled out the facts. The fact that girls thought Scorpius was _cute_. The fact that Scorpius got Valentine’s cards from pretty girls and secret admirers. The fact that there was more than one way to get around a prejudice against your House and name, if you were good-looking.  
  
“Does it hurt?” he asked, lamely, after the information had sunk in.  
  
“What, this?” Scorpius touched his bruise. “No, I have a few bottles of Pain-Away Potion in my trunk. Don’t know how to get rid of the bruise, though.”  
  
“I do. Hold still.” Albus touched his wand to Scorpius’ face. “ _Contundum abitum_. There, all gone.”  
  
“Where’d you learn that?”  
  
Albus shrugged. “Mum. She was forever patching up me and James after fights.”  
  
Scorpius’ fingers threaded together nervously. “Do you fight with him a lot?”  
  
“Yeah, all brothers and sisters do,” said Albus. He didn’t particularly want to go into this now, not when he had so much else to think about. Fortunately Scorpius didn’t probe any further.   
  
They passed away the rest of the hour quietly, both lost in thought. Albus was wrestling with the new and strange idea that Scorpius liked girls – that girls liked him – not for friends, but for other things James hinted at and his parents promised to disclose in A Talk.   
  
Albus wondered if Scorpius had sent a card of his own. Was he planning to abandon their little group and hang out with a girl instead, to carry her books and wear matching unicorn hair wristlets, like Christine and Gerrold? It was a disquieting thought.  
  
When the Guardian shelf rang out, Norma groaned in annoyance. Rambo looked as if he’d spent a season in hell with a notebook. Albus rolled his eyes and left them to snatch a last few minutes of caballing before curfew. Scorpius followed him out, a strange expression on his face.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he said, and ran off.  
  
“For what?” called Albus, but Scorpius was already gone.  
  
+_+_+  
  
The next day began a flurry of owls at their usual time. It reminded Albus that he hadn’t written home in over a week. Coming back to Hogwarts after Christmas had been a wrench, but he was settled in now even better than before. The fight he’d had with Dad had finally blown itself out a fortnight ago, so he’d stopped ignoring Dad’s part of the letters. Dad’s apology was vague, but it had been enough. Albus was too tired of the fight to demand specifics. It was enough of a relief to stop carrying the anger around with him everywhere he went.   
  
+_+_+  
  
Two days before the holidays ended, Albus finally confronted his father about withholding the existence of Albus’ cousin. He hadn’t intended to; the topic had come up when Dad called Albus to his study to ‘discuss’ his numerous detentions. In Grown-Up speech this meant ‘chastise with extreme prejudice.’  
  
“So how many detentions does this make it?” Dad asked, steepling his fingers.   
  
Sitting across the desk from him, with nothing to do but stare, Albus realised that Dad’s hair was more grey than black at the temples, and that a spiderweb of fine lines radiated out from the corners of his eyes. It was weird to think of Dad getting older. He’d seemed to stay the same age to Albus as long as he’d lived, but going away for a few months had changed his perspective.  
  
“Six,” replied Albus. He tactfully declined to mention that Penwyn had issued him a detention slip on the last morning for kicking up ash as he rushed through the common room. It would come into effect when term re-started, but as far as Albus was concerned it didn’t yet count.  
  
“Will you explain to me why you’ve had so many? I know you’re not rude. You’re hardworking and polite. Neville hasn’t mentioned that any teacher has a grudge against you. Why so many detentions?”  
  
“The first one was for being out of bed at night,” Albus began to explain. “My friend Titania wanted to see her twin sister, who’d been Sorted into Slytherin. They’d never been apart a night before. She asked Rambo and me to come along because she didn’t like the idea of creeping around a dark castle by herself.”  
  
“That is perhaps pushing the bounds of chivalry a little too far,” said Dad dryly, “but it’s still understandable.”  
  
“The second you know about, because James got one too. He insulted my friend Rambo –” Albus’ face darkened at the memory “– and when I told him Rambo is our cousin, James called me a liar and hit me.”  
  
“Not a Kodak moment either,” said Dad. “I know you and James have had your differences, and you’re so alike you’ll always rub each other the wrong way –”  
  
“I am nothing like James!” Albus retorted hotly.   
  
“Not at first glance, no,” Dad amended, “but you both have rather quick tempers – the combination of both mine and your mother’s, I’m afraid – and both of you refuse to back down. Two strong personalities in one family always makes for friction. In any case, I already know about this detention. Tell me about the others.”  
  
“But Dad, why didn’t you tell us about Rambo?” Before Dad could make a protest about changing the subject, Albus said, “It’s the reason why James and I got into a fight. So that detention was kind of your fault.”  
  
“Oh really?” Dad snorted. “It’s like this. I lived with Rambo’s grandparents as a child. They loved their own son – Rambo’s dad – very much, but they hated me. This was because Rambo’s grandmother, Petunia, was jealous of my mother, Lily. Lily had magical talent and Petunia didn’t. Imagine if you didn’t have magic while James did – it doesn’t make for family harmony. My parents were killed in the first Great War, so Dumbledore left me with my aunt. They treated me like a servant and tried to stop me going to Hogwarts. During the second Great War the Ministry helped them to go into hiding. To be honest, I wasn’t keen on trying to find them afterwards. The fact is, I didn’t even know Dudley had a son.”  
  
“They knew about us, though,” said Albus. “The Ministry kept them informed.”  
  
“I’m sure there was protocol about that – to allow them to come out of hiding at all, for instance. I didn’t keep this a secret on purpose. I honestly didn’t know.”  
  
“All right,” said Albus grudgingly.   
  
“Don’t think you’ve put me off the scent,” said Dad. “I still want to know why you got four other detentions, and I want to know it all. Even I only managed one my first term at Hogwarts.”  
  
“One...” Albus stared at him, aghast. “ _You_ got detentions?”  
  
“Loads,” said Dad airily. “I even have scars to show for it.” He waved the hand with the white lines on it. Albus had never thought to ask about them before – it was just Dad’s hand, after all. Nothing special.  
  
“But – but you always told us you and Mum never got detentions!” accused Albus. “You said you expected us to do the same!”  
  
“Of course we told you that,” said Dad. He sounded impatient. “We didn’t want you lot to think getting in trouble is okay.”  
  
“So you lied.” Albus’ voice was trembling.  
  
“Yes, but it was only to show a good example –”  
  
“You still _lied_!” yelled Albus. He leapt to his feet. “You broke your word! You – dishonourable –”  
  
Dad frowned. “Albus, that’s _enough_. Don’t raise your voice to me.” He waved his wand and Albus sat back down with a thump. Albus glared at the floor, feeling utterly betrayed. His own father had lied to him, made him feel guilty as hell for getting detentions – even though they weren’t his fault – but all along Dad was just the same as him. _Worse_ , because he’d lied about it.  
  
“Now tell me about the other detentions.” There was a pause. “Speak, or I’ll keep you here until you do.”  
  
Dad carried through on threats, unlike Mum, who was too soft-hearted. Albus knew he would keep his word. Sullenly, Albus said, “Penwyn Jones and Raymond Cresswell-Skeeter keep giving them to me. It’s payback because of what I did to the Never-ending Parchment.”  
  
“What did you do to the Never-ending Parchment?” prompted Dad.  
  
“Me, Rambo and Scorpius altered it so we could add to their conversations. They used to mock people. I didn’t like it. Then, after I got sick, they accused Scorpius of poisoning me. They didn’t know or didn’t care that Scorpius is my best friend. We tried to get back at them. It didn’t work – they just got meaner and meaner. They’re both Animagi and Scorpius caught Raymond snooping in his dorm. We threatened to report them for selling stories to the _Prophet_ if they didn’t apologise for what they’d said. But McGonagall made them stop first. Ever since they’ve been getting revenge on me. They don’t see Scorpius as much, but they’ve given him a detention as well, for coughing in the library.”  
  
“So.” Dad sounded grim. “This Scorpius boy _is_ the reason you’ve been getting into trouble. I knew he’d be a bad influence on you – the Malfoy taint is too strong.”  
  
Albus stared at his father, his lip curled in an unconscious imitation of Scorpius. “Didn’t you hear a word I said?”  
  
“Don’t take that tone with me!”  
  
“It was my idea!” Albus could feel his voice getting louder again. “I wanted to stop them, I wanted to hurt them because they hurt my friend. Scorpius is _my friend_. I don’t care what happened with you and his dad –”  
  
“Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater,” said Dad.  
  
“No he wasn’t!” Albus felt frustrated tears sting his eyes. “He wasn’t, Scorpius said so. And even if he was it doesn’t matter. Scorpius isn’t a Death Eater. There aren’t any more Death Eaters.”  
  
“There will always be Death Eaters, or people like them,” said Dad. “I worked as an Auror for fifteen years; I know. The Malfoys have been blood supremacists since time immemorial. There is not a single chance that Draco Malfoy hasn’t brought his son up to be the same – a Muggle-hater and a potential follower of any new cult leader.”  
  
“You haven’t even met Scorpius,” said Albus in freezing tones. “How dare you judge him like that?”  
  
“I’d say I dare,” snapped Dad. “I fought in the last War –”  
  
“And that makes you an expert on leaders of Dark Magic cults, does it?” Albus rolled his eyes.  
  
“I only killed the last one.” Dad rubbed his forehead agitatedly. “So maybe just a little bit.”  
  
“Wait, wait. You’re telling me you – _you_ were the Chosen One?” said Albus, his eyes so wide he felt sure they’d pop out of his head. “You ...”  
  
“Yes. I meant to wait until you were older to tell you. I asked the historians and journalists to use that name so my family could grow up free from the hysteria. You have no idea what it was like after the Great War ended. The publicity would have ruined our lives.”  
  
“And you didn’t think we had a right to know our father was the _Chosen One_?”   
  
“You knew I was an major player in the War,” said Dad. “Wasn’t that important enough?”  
  
“Important? Important?” spat Albus. “Who do you think I am – James? I don’t care what you did or who you killed – I care that you lied to me, _again_!”  
  
“Albus –”  
  
“No.” Albus turned his face away, ignoring Dad’s beseeching expression. “You can keep me here as long as you like, I’m not talking to you.”  
  
“Well, _fine_.” Dad’s own temper flared. “Do what you like!”  
  
Albus stayed in the study until midnight, when Mum came and helped him to bed with tears in her eyes.  
  
+_+_+  
  
Albus sat back, his temples crunching as he relived that particular memory. Across the Hall, he spotted a midnight-black owl bearing down on Scorpius. Albus recognised it as the one that brought Scorpius parcels from home. The look on Scorpius’ face made Albus’ heart turn over in his chest: it was one part loathing, three parts fear, and made Scorpius blanch so white he appeared almost blue. Albus abandoned his toast and hurried over to the Slytherin table. He barely noticed the odd looks shot in his direction. His sole focus was getting to Scorpius before he threw up all over the table, a likelihood that grew all the stronger as Scorpius read the letter the owl had delivered.  
  
“Are you okay?” whispered Albus as soon as he reached Scorpius’ side. An elfin girl with cascading brown curls reluctantly made room for him on the bench.  
  
Scorpius gazed at him vacantly. “What are you doing here?”  
  
“You look ill,” said Albus.   
  
“I’m fine,” said Scorpius, looking anything but.   
  
Breakfast ended while Albus remained by Scorpius’ side. Everyone but a few stragglers and slow eaters had drifted off to class when Professor Longbottom entered the Great Hall through a door behind the head table. He scanned the hall and latched on to Scorpius. As he made for them, Scorpius’ hand found Albus’ under the table and squeezed so tight Albus winced in pain.  
  
“Ah, there you are, Mr Malfoy,” said Professor Longbottom. “Lucky for me! I was hoping to catch you before class. You have a special visitor this morning. The Headmistress has already informed your teachers that you will be missing the first three classes. Now, if you’ll follow me –”  
  
Scorpius squeezed Albus’ hand to the point of bone damage. “I want Albus to come with me.”  
  
Professor Longbottom coughed. If he wasn’t so distracted Albus might have thought he was concealing a laugh. “Certainly, Scorpius, if that’s what you want.”  
  
Scorpius nodded. Rising from his seat like a zombie, he followed Professor Longbottom as he walked back towards the head table. He kept hold of Albus’ hand, so Albus nearly fell over the bench. He wasn’t about to ask Scorpius to let go, however; not when Scorpius looked like that.  
  
They entered the door behind the head table and found themselves in a small, well-appointed chamber. Two people were standing beside the fire, which blazed more for beauty than function, as the room was uncomfortably close. One of the figures Albus recognised as Draco Malfoy. He appeared taller and thinner than ever in severe bottle-green robes, his hair slicked so tight to his scalp he looked like an albino seal.   
  
The woman with him Albus guessed to be his wife, Scorpius’ mother. She was shorter than her husband, although not by much. The lush curves of her body were swathed in filmy grey robes, her cheeks pink from the fire. The blue eyes that Scorpius could turn so cold were open and laughing in her oval face. Albus felt his heart thump loudly and painfully in his chest.  
  
“Hello, Scorpius,” said Mr Malfoy. “And Albus too, I see.”  
  
“Oh, you’ve met?” said Professor Longbottom. “That’s good. Scorpius asked for Albus to come with him, and I didn’t see any problem with it.”  
  
“Doubtlessly,” said Mr Malfoy, ice chips floating in his voice. “If that is all, Neville, I would appreciate some time alone with my family and its associated hangers-on.”  
  
“Of course.” Professor Longbottom coughed again. “I’ll see myself out.”  
  
“Do that,” said Mr Malfoy. “And fetch yourself a cough drop. You don’t want to give your pupils colds.”  
  
Professor Longbottom inclined his head and withdrew. Scorpius had dropped Albus’ hand on entering the room, but he remained close by Albus’ side – close enough for Albus to feel him shaking.  
  
“Say hello to your dad,” hissed Albus. It came out louder than intended in the quiet room. Mrs Malfoy smiled at him, and Albus felt his insides turn to liquid.  
  
“Hello, Father,” intoned Scorpius.  
  
“Who is your friend?” asked Mrs Malfoy, advancing on Albus with her hand outstretched. Several large rings glittered and sparkled in the firelight. “I’m Serena Malfoy, Scorpius’ mother.”  
  
Albus shook her hand carefully, fearing it might shatter if he touched her too hard. “Albus Potter, Scorpius’ best friend.”  
  
“Indeed.” Mrs Malfoy raised her perfect eyebrows. “Delighted to make your acquaintance. I believe you’ve already met my husband, Draco?”  
  
“Yes, before Christmas, Mrs Malfoy.”  
  
“Enough of these pleasantries.” Mr Malfoy waved a hand. “Scorpius, you know why we are here. A very happy event has come to pass, at long last. We wanted you to be the first to know.”  
  
“We’ve brought someone very special here to meet you,” said Mrs Malfoy. She stepped back to the fire and reached down into a Moses basket that was rocking gently by magic.   
  
“No!” Scorpius suddenly shouted. “I don’t want to!” He tore away from Albus’ side and dashed out of the room.  
  
Mr Malfoy sighed and Mrs Malfoy’s face crumpled. The lacy bundle in her arms began to squirm, and then to gurgle. “Shh,” said Mrs Malfoy absently.  
  
“Is that –” Albus’ eyes widened.  
  
“Our new daughter, Celerity.” Mr Malfoy’s voice was painfully proud. “Born just yesterday at four o’clock.”  
  
“She was born on Valentine’s Day?” Albus grinned.  
  
“In my family it is accounted very lucky to be born on a feast-day.” Mrs Malfoy kissed the top of her daughter’s head. “For some reason it is quite common, and all those born on such days are blessed with great luck.”  
  
“Well, congratulations!” said Albus. “I’m, er, sorry about Scorpius. I don’t know what’s got into him.”  
  
“He’s been like this ever since we told him about the pregnancy,” said Mrs Malfoy.  
  
“Serena, the boy doesn’t need to –”  
  
“He’s our son’s best friend!” said Mrs Malfoy. “Perhaps he knows why.” She turned pleading eyes on Albus.  
  
“He hasn’t told me anything,” said Albus, “but I have a pretty good idea where to go and find him.”  
  
“I’ll come with you,” said Mr Malfoy. Mrs Malfoy put a restraining hand on his arm.  
  
“Let Albus do it, Draco,” she said.   
  
Albus sent Mr Malfoy a quick smile before dashing to the seventh floor. He missed the curious expression of regret that graced Draco Malfoy’s features for an instant as he watched him go.  
  
+_+_+  
  
Albus yanked on the door of the Clubhouse. He wouldn’t have been surprised to find it locked, but the Clubhouse yielded to his urgent need to find Scorpius.  
  
The room inside was utterly unlike anything Albus had ever seen before. It was tiny, both in proportions and height – the ceiling brushed the top of Albus’ head. Gauzy hangings in pastel hues criss-crossed the floor, turning the room into a warren of silk tunnels. When Albus found Scorpius, it was on a bed of cream satin cushions. Each was embroidered with fantastical scenes of knights and dragons, centaurs and unicorns. An ornate birch shelf held a row of books with gorgeous gilt covers. Albus itched to investigate them, but Scorpius’ reddened eyes were more worthy of scrutiny.  
  
Albus sat down amongst the cushions, which were heavenly soft and scented with a woody smell he couldn’t name. Scorpius hid his face in one.  
  
“I don’t remember Lily being born,” said Albus. “But I was glad she was a girl. Little sisters are more fun than big brothers.”  
  
“No siblings at all are the most fun of all,” sniffed Scorpius.  
  
“Yeah, but you can’t give ‘em back once they arrive,” Albus pointed out.  
  
“I just don’t understand.” Tears trickled out of Scorpius’ eyes. “Why did they want another baby? Wasn’t I enough? Don’t they love me any more?”  
  
Albus stared at his friend. Scorpius had started crying in earnest as he spoke, sobs wracking his frame.   
  
Albus couldn’t help it. He began to laugh.  
  
“Some friend you are!”  
  
At the indignation in Scorpius’ tone Albus only laughed more, nearly crying himself.  
  
“Fine, if you think it’s so funny, go away and laugh yourself to death!” snarled Scorpius. He already sounded more angry than pathetic.  
  
“I’m sorry,” choked Albus, “but listen to yourself! You get top marks in nearly everything and you think your parents had a baby because they don’t _love_ you any more?”  
  
“What have my _marks_ got to do with anything?”  
  
“They suggest you have the intelligence God gave a pea, that’s what,” said Albus. He calmed down slightly. “For crying out loud, Scorpius. There are five hundred million reasons why people have babies. I don’t think your parents used one of the nasty ones. Maybe you _weren’t_ enough – maybe they always planned to have more than one kid. Maybe, just maybe, they thought you’d like to have a little brother or sister.”  
  
“Well, I don’t.” Scorpius set his lip mutinously.  
  
“Or maybe they thought you needed someone to share the attention,” suggested Albus wickedly. “Stop you being so selfish.”  
  
“I’m not selfish!” Scorpius gaped inelegantly. “How dare you!”  
  
“You are very very selfish,” said Albus, “but you’re still my friend. You’re a great person and you’re going to make a great big brother, I can tell. Why don’t you give yourself a chance?”  
  
“It’s not like I have much choice,” muttered Scorpius.  
  
“No, you don’t. That’s why it’s even more important to do the right thing,” said Albus. “C’mon. Lighten up. Celerity’ll take _years_ to catch up on you.”  
  
“Celerity?”  
  
“Your sister’s name,” said Albus gently.  
  
“Celerity.” Scorpius took a shaky breath. “That’s pretty.”  
  
“It really is,” said Albus. “I’m sure your mum would love it if you went and told her so.” He stood up and helped Scorpius to his feet. “Your parents are still in the room behind the Great Hall.”  
  
“They waited for me?”  
  
“Of course they waited for you, idiot,” said Albus. “They’re your parents. It’s their job. They’ll _always_ wait for you.”  
  
Scorpius dashed the tears from his face. Albus loaned him a handkerchief and directed him to the spots he’d missed. “Thanks,” muttered Scorpius. “For the handkerchief, I mean.”  
  
“And the rest,” laughed Albus. Scorpius scowled at him – a sure sign he was feeling better – and walked away quickly.  
  
Professor Longbottom caught Albus dawdling along the hallway to Potions. Professor Slughorn detested tardiness and Albus was already looking down the barrel of another detention – his third that week, Penwyn and Raymond having accounted for two already.  
  
“Hello, Albus,” said Professor Longbottom. “Here’s your note.”  
  
“My note?”  
  
“Excusing your lateness,” said Longbottom. He looked at Albus as if he were a particularly odd plant specimen. “Draco Malfoy insisted that I write you one.”  
  
“Thanks, Professor!” Relieved, Albus pocketed the note. “Was there anything else?”  
  
“I did have a question,” said Longbottom slowly, “but if you think it’s rude, you don’t have to answer it.”  
  
“Okay,” said Albus.  
  
“I was merely wondering,” said Professor Longbottom, “if the Sorting Hat tried to place you in any other House but Hufflepuff.”  
  
“Is that all? I thought you were going to give me a lecture on getting so many detentions.” Albus scratched his chin. “The Hat? Yeah, it said I’d fit in any House.” He carefully neglected to mention that he’d asked not to be put in Gryffindor; he was well aware Professor Longbottom was an alumni of that House.  
  
“Any House,” repeated Longbottom. “I see. Thank you.”  
  
“No problem, Professor. I’d better get to class. See you in Herbology!”  
  
As Albus continued down the corridor to the dungeons, he was aware that Professor Longbottom was still there, watching him. But by the time Albus turned the corner, he was gone.  
  
+_+_+  
  
Scorpius was a little later than usual in turning up to the Clubhouse that night. Albus was worried, but he didn’t dare confide in his friends. He didn’t think Scorpius would appreciate it if he spread the word about his earlier break-down.  
  
When Scorpius eventually came through the door, Albus stared in shock. Scorpius was smiling – actually grinning.   
  
“You’ve obviously been doing something naughty,” said Norma.  
  
“Not really, just writing home,” said Scorpius. “Speaking of which, I have something to show you all.”  
  
“Is it poisonous?” asked Norma eagerly, as they clustered round. Albus peered over Scorpius’ shoulder as he drew out a slim brown package.  
  
“Not especially,” said Scorpius. “It’s pictures of my little sister.”


	7. Chapter 7

_And remember: there are circumstances,  
And he who chooses chooses what is given,  
And he who chooses is ignorant of Choice,   
– Choose love, for love is full of children,  
Full of choices, children choosing  
Botany, mathematics, law and love,  
So full of choices! So full of children!  
And the past is immortal, the future is inexhaustible!_  
(Delmore Schwartz)  
  
Albus splayed his fingers on the window of the infirmary, breathing out to frost the glass. When the weak March sunlight hit the window at just the right angle, Albus could see the faint shimmer of the magical net criss-crossing over it like a lattice - or like prison bars.   
  
The magic was pale blue and rather sparkly. In any other time and place, Albus might have appreciated its aesthetic qualities. But here and now, its practical qualities - filtering the air coming in through the window as well as sucking out any impurities from the room itself - trumped its physical beauties, turning it into something unpleasant, even menacing.  
  
Albus was surprised to hear a knock at the door. Madam MacDougal didn't appear to believe in knocking, probably because emergency situations rendered it impractical. His friends waltzed in whenever they could and didn't feel the need to give away their presence by making noise. When a tanned, merry-eyed face popped around the door at Albus' surprised 'Come in,' Albus nearly fell off the bed with delight.  
  
"Samire!" he cried, launching himself off the mattress with enough bounce to carry him right into the jaws of a hug.   
  
"You've grown again," Samire accused him. Albus smiled; their eyes were nearly level now. When he was younger he'd loved the fact that Samire didn't tower above him like other adults. Now he was still happy, because it felt like he and Samire were equals.  
  
"I couldn't help it," said Albus. "I blame the food."  
  
"I think you're so big I won't be able to sit on the same bed as you," said Samire. "You might squash me flat."  
  
"No way!" Albus tossed the pillows on the floor and patted the rumpled duvet invitingly. "See? Loads of room."  
  
Samire laughed; a pearly sound Albus had half-forgotten. "I'm glad to hear it." She nimbly hopped on to the bed beside him and leaned in confidingly. "I just met your Madam MacDougal. She accused me of masquerading as a student. It's a good thing I bring copies of my Healer qualifications everywhere I go."  
  
Albus' smile faded at the reminder of what Samire was and why she was here. Mum had written that she was thinking of Floo’ing Samire about a consultation, but he hadn’t thought it would be so soon. Samire’s time was in high demand. That she managed to fit Albus into her schedule did not bode well for his condition.  
  
Albus wanted to avoid her eyes, but there was something compelling about Samire that made you want to look at her and pour out all your woes. Her long black curls fell across cheeks lightly scarred with acne. Those scars were yet another reason why Albus felt a bond with her. Years of magical irradiation from diagnostic spells had left the insides of his elbow and knees, plus the skin behind his ears, marked with dull off-purple pigmentation. When he was feeling particularly run-down the patches of skin flared up, both tender and painfully itchy.  
  
"I'm sick of being sick," he announced.   
  
"But you're not sick," said Samire gently. "Your body has a faulty immune system; 'being sick' is something your brain does to you, remember?"  
  
"Yeah," said Albus. A world of cynicism - one that had been uncharted the last time he saw Samire - unfolded at that word. "But I think my brain's had a bit of help from my body on this one."  
  
Samire sighed. "Bring me up to date."  
  
"My chart is at the end of the bed."  
  
"I want to hear it from you," said Samire. "Why should I go to the effort of reading when I have the subject sitting right here? Healers are notoriously lazy, you know, and I'm no exception."  
  
"Huh," said Albus. He realised that this was a ploy on Samire's part to get him to open up - something else that hadn't been apparent to his nine-year-old self. "Well, the problems started when Mum and Dad bought me a cat for my birthday."  
  
"The first of November." Samire nodded.  
  
"You remember!"  
  
"Of course. I lit a candle for you in St Jerome's, like we used to do."  
  
"Thanks," said Albus, touched. Feeling slightly more relaxed, he went on: "Madame MacDougal says the cat dander was probably a trigger. Your potions aren't strong enough, or they aren't working as well as before, or I've got so much worse that they can't keep up. I don't remember which one they decided it was. Anyway, I had an attack - what do you call them again?"  
  
"A hypersensitivity reaction," Samire supplied.  
  
"Yeah, that. Mum was all for pulling me out of school, probably to go back to France, even - but Madam MacDougal said I could stay if I did all the air purifying charms and stayed away from triggers." Albus smiled weakly. "It's been a long time to go without chocolate."  
  
Samire put a hand to her heart. "No chocolate! Madam MacDougal surely is a cruel woman."  
  
"No, she's not," Albus hastened to say. "She's the one who let me stay here. I made the choice, not her."  
  
"And do you think you made the wrong choice?"  
  
"No!" Albus only realised he'd raised his voice when Samire raised her eyebrows and leaned back slightly. "No. It was ... we were just in the courtyard. Christine was showing Scorpius her new pet Kneazle. They weren't to know - I didn't realise -"  
  
"I am not here to lay blame," said Samire. "As far as I can tell, you are recovering nicely. Accidents like this are bound to happen, no matter how careful you are or how guarded are those around you. My concern is not with what happened, but how we can prevent it from happening again."  
  
"Madam MacDougal said the potions are adult-strength already. I can't -"  
  
"'Madam MacDougal says.'" Samire smiled. "How many times have you said that now? Should I feel jealous?"  
  
"No, I -" Albus fumbled for words, feeling his face heat up. Samire had never made him blush before.  
  
"I was only teasing you," said Samire. "But let us not forget that Madam MacDougal is merely a general Healer, with most experience in curing colds and poison ivy. I am a specialist researcher in the field of immune disease. Regardless, I'm sure she does a fine job, and she was completely right in letting you stay here."  
  
"For some reason, I'm guessing you'll want to run more tests," said Albus.  
  
"I do," agreed Samire. "The test results from St Mungo's a few months ago were inconclusive, to say the least. I have been monitoring your progress closely."  
  
"Yes, but," said Albus, "when we left, it was because there was nothing more you could do. Have you come up with a cure?"  
  
"In two years? I'm afraid not," said Samire. "But developments are occurring all the time. I want to reassess you on all levels - your immunity, your physical strength, your growth patterns - to see if there's any way we can adapt the potions we have to work better with the changes in your condition."  
  
"How it's getting worse, you mean."  
  
"That's what I'm here to determine. Don't count your geese before they are hatched."  
  
"Chickens," said Albus. At Samire's questioning look, he clarified, "It's 'don't count your chickens.'"  
  
"Oh, dear." Samire shook her head ruefully. "All these years, and still I get things wrong."  
  
Albus nudged her arm playfully. Samire's accent was barely noticeable, unlike Aunt Fleur's - although Albus thought Aunt Fleur purposely spoke that way so no one could mistake her for an Englishwoman. Samire's careful pronunciation and her occasional habit of dropping incorrect metaphors were all that gave her away.  
  
"I like geese better'n chickens anyway," he said, and started to roll up his sleeve.  
  
+_+_+  
  
Titania scooped up a handful of grapes and smushed them all into her mouth at once. Rambo did likewise with a banana, while Scorpius watched in horrified fascination and Norma inspected Albus' bed for wheels. They all glowed blue - the effect of the filtration mask that spanned the door to the room and through which it was necessary to pass on entering. Whenever one of them touched him, Albus could feel the warm crackle of live enchantment.   
  
"So, Albus -" Titania stretched her mouth into frog-like contortions so she could speak and eat at the same time "- are you going to be able to go on the Defence field trip?"  
  
"Try and stop me," said Albus. It came out sounding like more of a plea than a declaration.   
  
The Defence field trips, which Professor Bones ran every two years, were eagerly anticipated by all her students. The first-year trip was scheduled to begin on the twentieth of March. Albus thought he'd get physically sick if he couldn't go, which would blend in nicely with all his other physical symptoms. He'd been in the infirmary for over a week.   
  
Rambo looked guilty. "About that - Conan asked me if I'd be his tent-mate ... and I wasn't sure if you'd be well enough ..."  
  
"Oh dear - so who's Eoghan going to share a tent with?" The lightness of Albus' tone gave no hint of the splinter of betrayal in his soul. Albus didn't care who Rambo shared a tent with on the trip - Rambo could sleep in a tree if it was what his heart desired, but that he doubted Albus' strength was a cruel blow.  
  
"A badger," suggested Titania. "A very smelly, bad-tempered badger, who bites."  
  
"I’d feel sorry for the badger," said Albus.  
  
"Who's your tent-mate, then?" Norma looked up from whatever nefarious things she was doing to the bed frame.  
  
"Me, of course," said Scorpius shortly. Albus sent him a beaming smile that was lit up with all the gratitude in his heart, but Scorpius appeared more interested in his fingernails.  
  
A knock sounded and the four froze, although not without Rambo and Titania snaffling more of Albus' pity food. Samire entered, walking lightly as always. The blue glow burnished her hair with silver highlights.  
  
"Try to look less Stunned, you lot," whispered Albus. Louder, he said, "Hey, Samire. These are my friends - Scorpius, Rambo, Norma and Titania."  
  
"I am pleased to meet you all," said Samire. "Although I fear I have known you by reputation long since. Madam MacDougal has been most severe in her reproaches - something about sneaking in to see you, Albus?"  
  
"That's us," said Norma proudly. "Old Mac didn't need to worry though, Scorpius taught all of us how to incant an Air Purifying Charm."  
  
"You did?" said Albus, smiling again. Scorpius put on the stony face he always produced when embarrassed, and stared at the wall.  
  
"I'm very glad to hear it," said Samire.   
  
"Do you think I'll be well enough to go on the Defence trip in four days?" asked Albus. Samire sucked in her lower lip and nodded, slowly.  
  
"I've just finished making up a new batch of potions for you, with a change in the anti-histamine to vasodilator ratio," she said. "I'll let your professor know all about it - if anything goes wrong you'll have to come straight back here, or fly to St Mungo's."  
  
"Nothing will go wrong," said Albus, grinning at his friends. When Scorpius looked up and met his eye at last, Albus could almost believe it himself.  
  
+_+_+  
  
The entire first-year student body milled around the Entrance Hall, all talking ten miles an hour in voices high-pitched from excitement. Albus entered from the corridor to the Hufflepuff Wing with Titania and Rambo on his heels, already scanning the crowd for a familiar blonde head.  
  
"- the challenges change every year -"  
  
"- I hear we get to _fly_ -"  
  
"- third and fourth-years go for three days, and the sixth and seventh-years for a week -"  
  
"- brother went the year before last, he nearly -"  
  
"- can't wait to see where we're going -"  
  
"- know how to pitch a tent by magic, do -"  
  
"Norma's nearby," announced Titania. "So I guess Scorpius is too."  
  
"Can you sense it by telepathy?" asked Rambo eagerly. Titania rolled her eyes.  
  
"No, there's a funny smell. My sister is the queen of funny smells."  
  
Sure enough, they squeezed past a group of chattering Gryffindors to find Norma ensconced in a corner. She was doling out what looked like bits of old cheese on a string.  
  
"Roll up, roll up!" she yelled as the three Hufflepuffs came into hearing range. "Anti-Nargle charms - a steal at a Knut apiece!"  
  
"Nargles?" Rambo pursed his lips.  
  
"They infest mistletoe," said Albus. "But mistletoe only blooms in winter."  
  
"Then she should definitely be charging a Sickle," said Rambo.  
  
Albus rotated slowly, trying to peer over people's heads. Rambo had shot up two inches since Christmas, making Albus officially the shortest person in the group, if not the whole class. At last he spotted Scorpius, who was standing beside Christine Ohtori and looking distinctly uncomfortable. Albus was on the point of charging over, or at least waving to him, when he saw something that brought him up short - Scorpius' hand, gingerly clasping Christine's.  
  
"Yup," said Titania, materialising at Albus' shoulder. "Christine and Gerrold 'broke up' last week, so she and Scorpius are now 'an item.'" She spoke the words as if they were assembled from some ancient, long-dormant language, the pronunciation of which was as yet unclear.  
  
"He didn't tell me," said Albus, trying not to sound as bemused as he felt. Titania snorted.  
  
"He didn't tell _anyone_. If it wasn't for Christine braying about it on every corner no one would know. I think he's embarrassed." Titania added, with a derisive toss of her head, " _I_ would be. Christine is so annoying. She'll have them in matching hair ribbons before you can say 'whipped.'"  
  
"Whipped?" Albus was aghast at this new and heretofore unrevealed element of romantic interaction. "Why are whips involved?"  
  
Before Titania could explain, Professor Bones appeared at the head of the stairs. Clapping her hands for quiet, she boomed, "Welcome, everyone, to the first Defence Against the Dark Arts field trip of 2017!" She smiled benevolently as a cheer erupted. When it had died down, she continued, "I assume most of you will have chosen your tent-mate already. Those of you who have not, please come to me before we depart so I can assign you a tent. Professor Longbottom will be here shortly with the Portkeys. When we arrive you will find packs waiting for you there. Please take one - they are all exactly alike, so there's no need to fight over them - and await further instructions."  
  
Professor Longbottom had already appeared by the time Professor Bones finished her speech, with an armful of Defence textbooks. "Assemble into groups of no more than five," he called out. "Be prepared to Portkey as soon as I give you a book. If you've forgotten to bring anything, it's too late, so don’t worry about it!" At this, a spatter of laughter broke out across the room.   
  
Albus looked around again for Scorpius, but he'd already been assimilated into a group of Ravenclaw girls. Albus recognised them as Christine's friends; at least, they'd been with her when Christine had accosted Scorpius to show him her new Kneazle. Feeling a pang of loss, Albus stepped into a circle comprising Rambo, the twins and Conan. Conan gave Albus a swift smile. In his peripheral vision Albus could see Eoghan, lining up in front of Professor Bones wearing a pinched and put-out expression.  
  
"Here you go," said Professor Longbottom. "Hello, Albus. How are you feeling?"  
  
"Fine, thanks," said Albus quickly. He grabbed hold of the book, hoping it would transport them before Longbottom could ask any more questions.   
  
"That's good to hear," said Longbottom, as the others put their hands on the book. Rambo, looking puzzled, was the last to follow suit.   
  
With a jolt that hooked him low in the belly, the Portkey took hold of Albus and his friends and whirled them into a clearing in the middle of a forest. All around the clearing, groups of people in various stages of motion sickness were snapping into existence. Professor Bones Apparated with a bang.   
  
"All right _people_!" she yelled. Her robes had altered from standard black to form-fitting khaki. A camouflage-patterned beret sat atop her straw-blonde head, looking far more at home there than her witch's hat. "Please pair up with your tent-mate and collect your packs. The field trip commences now."  
  
Albus left his friends to it and began his search for Scorpius. He hadn't gone three feet when an arm shot out from behind a bush and tugged him in. Scorpius was sheltering behind two sheaves of leaves, a handful of burrs decorating his curls. Albus suppressed a laugh.  
  
"We can't stay here," he said. "We need to collect our packs."  
  
"Just one more second," said Scorpius urgently. Albus sighed and hunkered down beside him. They watched as people trooped past in pairs. When Christine Ohtori sauntered by, her smooth hair drawn back in a pink ribbon, Albus poked Scorpius. He assumed Scorpius had been waiting for Christine and was half way to standing up when Scorpius yanked him back down again. Only when Christine and her partner had been given packs and moved to the far edge of the clearing did Scorpius allow Albus to do likewise.  
  
Albus covertly watched Scorpius as they buckled on their packs. His face was mottled pink and his mouth was set in a grim line. Albus hadn't seen that expression since before Celerity was born. Unlike in that case, however, Albus felt absolutely no desire to probe into Scorpius' state of mind. The whole idea of the boyfriend-girlfriend thing Scorpius had going with Christine was deeply unsettling to Albus. He didn't want to think about it more than he could help.  
  
Professor Bones marshalled the first-years into groups of ten, each with a leader carrying a different coloured flag. "If you get lost," she told them, "stay put and send up red sparks with your wand. I shall come and find you."  
  
"Professor," asked Rambo, who was in group blue with Conan and the twins, "where are we? And if we send up sparks, won't the Muggles see?"  
  
"Excellent question, Dursley," rumbled Bones. "As a matter of fact, we are at the site of the 1994 Quidditch World Cup. This area was part of the campsite and the Muggle-repelling Charms are still active. They are maintained by the Ministry at my request, as this is an ideal safe site to test your field skills in Defence. On that note, I warn you all to keep a close eye on where we are going and what's around you. I do not plan to inform you when you may be called on to demonstrate a spell. This is a field trip, not an exam. Before you ask, Dursley, we're hiking to the place where we'll make camp for the night. It's through five miles of forest. Keep your wits about you!"  
  
"Five miles," muttered Albus, biting his lip. He was in team green and directly behind Professor Bones, who had his potions on hand. Still, five miles was a long way - especially when he had spent most of last week bed-ridden.  
  
He hadn't intended Scorpius to hear him, so he was surprised at the light pressure on his elbow. "Don't worry," whispered Scorpius. "I'll keep an eye on you. I won't let you get sick, not again."  
  
"You didn't let me get sick before," protested Albus. He hoped Scorpius hadn't realised the part his birthday cake had played in the first attack.  
  
"Not directly," agreed Scorpius, "but it was my fault you were anywhere near Christine's Kneazle."  
  
"Oh ... right." In any other case Albus would have argued the point, but the mention of Christine's name turned him curiously shy.   
  
The trek through the woods was by no means without interest, although an hour passed without anything Defence-related occurring. The trees were old: mainly oak and spruce interspersed with silver beeches, like Sickles gleaming from a pile of Knuts. Spring flowers were blooming amongst the roots, sheltered by the thick canopy that gave the whole forest a quiet and cathedral-like air. The only event that tainted Albus' enjoyment was a note, passed forward from the red group to Scorpius. It was just a scrap of parchment, adorned with a few hearts pierced by Cupid's arrows and signed with a C. Scorpius blushed and hastily scrunched it into his pocket.  
  
A shout suddenly broke through the sounds of laboured breathing. Albus recognised Rambo's voice incanting a spell and, within seconds, a number of trees were reduced to ashes. Professor Boot raised her eyebrows.  
  
"Not quite the spell I had in mind," she said, "although effective, nonetheless." She strode down the line to where Rambo was staring at his handiwork. " _Reducto_ , was it? How old are you again?"  
  
"Twelve years and two months," said Rambo in a voice that quavered between high and middle C.  
  
"Hmm," said Professor Bones. "Well done - although next time, try not to actually destroy anything."  
  
"Yes, Professor."  
  
Scorpius shook his head, the corners of his mouth quirking up. "Trust Rambo," he murmured. Albus snickered.  
  
Within minutes shouts and cries erupted from all the groups. Team green was the last to be confronted with a challenge: a tangle of thorns barring their way, ten feet high and six feet wide. Albus turned around to consult with the rest of the team and realised for the first time that it contained his cousin Rose.  
  
"Albus," she said coolly, having obviously been aware of his presence for quite some time.  
  
"Hi, Rose," he said.   
  
Scorpius dismissed Rose with the briefest of looks, much to her evident chagrin. "Anyone got any ideas?" he asked. Most of the group mirrored what Albus imagined was on his own face: the rolled-lip, wrinkled-nose expression of drawing a blank.   
  
"Very well then." Scorpius pointed his wand at the thicket and said clearly, " _Sesami_." With a graceful motion, the thorns withered back enough to allow them through single-file.  
  
Professor Bones was waiting on the other side. "Very smooth, Malfoy," she said. "The rest of you, get with the programme. You aren't always going to have someone else around to say your spells for you."  
  
Albus risked a look at Rose. Her usually calm and detached face was blotchy red, making her look rather ugly. Albus deduced that she was absolutely furious.  
  
"Rose Weasley?" Scorpius mouthed into his ear. "Nice girl, that one. I'd wager she knows half a dozen opening spells."  
  
"She does," Albus whispered back. "She just didn't say any because she wanted the rest of us to look bad. Pity for her you were here."  
  
Scorpius smiled and, for a moment, everything was right with the world.  
  
+_+_+  
  
Albus felt a little self-conscious about changing in front of Scorpius. He'd got used to the boys in his dorm and while dropping trou in front of them was never going to be something he relished, it was no longer a sticky issue. Scorpius was another story. Moreover, Albus was uncomfortably aware of the fresh bruises on the inside of his elbows. They were plainly obvious when he was wearing a short-sleeved pyjama shirt. Scorpius' eyes flicked to them more than once, but he held his tongue on the subject.   
  
"I hear there's going to be flying tomorrow," said Scorpius, once they were both snuggled down in sleeping bags. The oil lamp between them cast a rosy glow over everything.  
  
"Oh, great," said Albus, with the total opposite of enthusiasm. He'd participated in the flying lessons provided by the school, although he was already competent at it - he couldn't but be, with parents who'd both played Quidditch professionally.   
  
Albus couldn't remember a time when toy broomsticks hadn't littered the sheds of his house in Godric's Hollow. Mum had even brought one to France with them, although she'd attributed his lack of interest in it to his illness.   
  
"Not a big fan?"  
  
"Flying’s okay. I just don't see why people get so bloody excited about it. It's terribly dangerous, for one thing."  
  
Scorpius' eyes glittered in the lamp-light. "That's what makes it so fun."  
  
"If you say so."  
  
A rustling noise interrupted their conversation. "Psst!" said someone who sounded a lot like Norma would, if Norma were standing outside their tent in the middle of the night. "Wake up, you two! Time for the midnight feast."  
  
"Bones never mentioned anything about a midnight feast," said Albus. He clambered out of his sleeping bag and opened the tent flap. Scorpius leaned up on one elbow.  
  
Norma poked her face into the tent. "I'm glad neither of you sleep in the nuddy," she said.  
  
"Ew!" said Albus. Scorpius growled.  
  
"Anyway, what Bones doesn't know won't hurt her." Norma patted a mysteriously bulging bag slung over her shoulder. "You coming or not?"  
  
"Hang on, hang on," grumbled Albus. He shoved his feet into his shoes and tucked Mouse under his pillow. In a few seconds he and Scorpius were creeping through the wet grass after Norma. A few minutes' walk brought them to a bubbling stream, which looked like running ink in the darkness. A tiny fire was lit on the banks and a number of people were clustered around it.   
  
"Who's ready for toasted marshmallows?" said Norma in her normal voice. There was a muted cheer.   
  
Albus and Scorpius found a seat on a log beside Rambo, who was yawning hugely. Christine Ohtori was nowhere to be seen. Albus couldn't quite pinpoint the reason for his relief at this realisation.   
  
Rambo didn't seem inclined for conversation, so the three of them slid marshmallows on to sticks and plunged them into the fire. Albus hadn't been remotely hungry on going to bed, but the gloopy sweets tasted delicious. He expected Scorpius to complain about eating with his fingers, but Scorpius was gobbling them with gusto, inhaling three to everyone else's one.  
  
At last they exhausted even Norma's mammoth stock of supplies. Norma was in the midst of convincing people to go for a swim when Albus started feeling dizzy. He clutched at Scorpius' arm. Scorpius responded immediately, wrapping his arm around Albus' back and helping him to his feet.  
  
Norma's exhortation was cut off mid-stream when she saw Albus' face. She ran over to them. "You okay? Need help?"  
  
"I'll be fine - you better get everyone to bed in case I have to wake up Bones," said Scorpius. Norma nodded.   
  
Albus didn't remember much about the short trip back to the tent. He did retain a lingering impression of Scorpius' hands, mother-gentle as he tucked the sleeping bag closer around Albus' shoulders. Scorpius probably asked Albus if he wanted Bones, but Albus must have said no because the next he remembered, the sun was streaming through the thin material of the tent.  
  
His stomach felt queasy, but other than that he was all right. There'd probably been gluten in the marshmallows. Albus couldn't remember seeing them on the List, or he wouldn't have dreamed of eating one - but Madam MacDougal couldn't be expected to think of every food Albus might possibly encounter. Albus would have been content to rest a while longer to let his stomach settle; but his hand groped automatically for the reassuring feel of Mouse and came back empty.  
  
Albus sat up, ignoring the way his head swam, and frantically threw his pillow across the tent. It landed on Scorpius' face, rudely awakening him. By the time Scorpius had blinked himself fully awake Albus had torn half the tent apart.  
  
"What the hell are you doing?" mumbled Scorpius, pushing his hair out of his eyes.  
  
"It's Mouse! He's gone!"  
  
"He can't be gone; you just had him last night."  
  
"I know that, but he's still gone!"  
  
Professor Boot's voice rang out over the campsite, calling them to breakfast. Scorpius forced Albus to sit down and breathe.  
  
"We will look for Mouse later," said Scorpius. "He's bound to be here somewhere, stuck in a corner or something. But right now we have to get ready. All right?"  
  
"All right," said Albus, almost hypnotised by Scorpius' intense gaze.  
  
As Scorpius had predicted, the day's challenge involved broomsticks. Each tent pair shared one between them. They set off at intervals to a place marked out in the air by orange sparks from Professor Boot's wand. As Albus clambered aboard behind Scorpius, Rose and her partner stepped up to wait their turn. It was not until Albus' broom was airborne that Rose called, "Hey, Albus - missing something?" She smirked and waved her hand in the direction of the stream.   
  
Albus saw a pair from team purple hovering over it, one of them holding something in his hand. At Rose's signal, he let it drop. It plummeted like a stone, like a familiar grey-furred stone -  
  
Albus wasn’t aware that he was shouting until Scorpius yelled irritably, "I'm on it - shut up, let me concentrate!" He turned the broom into a sharp dive. Albus clung on for dear life, the wind whipping Scorpius' hair into his eyes.  
  
The brook they'd feasted beside the night before rapidly changed into a thundering river a few metres downstream. The boy had dropped Mouse at the point where the river tumbled over a raging waterfall. Scorpius and the broom flew together as expertly as one creature, chasing after Mouse like an avenging angel.   
  
"Get ready to grab!" hollered Scorpius.  
  
Albus tightened his grip on Scorpius' robes and reached out with his other hand. Scorpius would have to pull up soon or they'd crash straight into the waterfall. Mouse was there - Albus stretched to the limit, his fingers brushing the soft fur on Mouse's head - one last time - Mouse's plaintive voice calling for him as he plunged into the rapids -  
  
With a screech of strained magic, Scorpius yanked the broom vertical and shot directly up into the sky. The sun, Scorpius' hair and his own tears blinded Albus as the broom wheeled around, heading back for camp. Scorpius came to an unsteady stop, his feet kicking up troughs of dirt as he fought to break. Albus tumbled sideways off the broom and lay unmoving. The combination of nausea, hatred of flight and grief over Mouse poured bile into his throat.  
  
Dimly, he was aware of Boot shouting and Rose cowering. "- Portkey you directly back to Hogwarts, young lady, and a week - no, two weeks - of detention -"  
  
A shadow blotted out the sun. Scorpius crouched over Albus and felt his forehead. "You okay?"  
  
"No," choked Albus.  
  
"I guessed not," sighed Scorpius.   
  
A wave of numbness washed over Albus, and everything went black.  
  
+_+_+  
  
All in all, Albus was mostly grateful that Professor Boots had judged it wise to send him back to Hogwarts with Rose. Mouse had been a person to Albus; losing him was akin to a bereavement. Mouse had comforted Albus in long hours of illness, when he was too weak to move or read or eat. Rose had as good as killed him. Albus’ enjoyment of the trip was utterly destroyed, and he was glad he didn't have to put up a front.  
  
He knew Rose had a resentful temper. It wasn't unusual for something as small as Albus' friend beating her at a test to arouse it. As Albus sat on the windowseat of the Clubhouse and watched his classmates Portkey into the courtyard, dirty and windswept and happy, he wondered unhappily if everyone in his family was afflicted with anger that was quick to burn and slow to cool.  
  
It was already quite late and Albus didn't expect to see anyone but his dorm mates until the morrow. Everyone looked too exhausted for socialising. Albus was on the point of uncurling himself in order to return to Hufflepuff Wing when Scorpius slipped in the door. He was still dressed in robes that were covered in mud and grass stains, and his face bore smears of red ochre. Albus thought he detected Norma's hand in that.  
  
"How was it?" he asked.   
  
"Brilliant," said Scorpius, with a brief, bright grin. "You'd have loved it too."  
  
"Huh." Albus stared at the windowframe, trying not to let the tears fall. Between being sick and losing his dearest companion, he couldn't see much to love.  
  
"I'm sorry about Mouse." Scorpius moved closer, his hands behind his back. "I know you can't ever replace him, but ... I thought you might like some company, all the same."  
  
"What do you mean?" Albus looked at his friend, confused.   
  
"Here." Scorpius shoved a soft white object into Albus' arms. It looked like a floppy dog, with a black button nose and brown velvet ears. "That's - he's Concorde, my ... friend. I never wanted to share him before. I thought I was too old for toys, anyway, but - I want you to have him. At least for a while."  
  
Albus rubbed Concorde's head. He didn't feel right; he didn’t feel like Mouse. But his fur was worn and his marble eyes scratched. He was something Scorpius loved. "Thank you," Albus said thickly. “I mean ... I ... thanks.”  
  
"Yeah,” said Scorpius. “You’re welcome. Take – take good care of him.”  
  
Albus hugged Concorde close, feeling an infinitesimal amount of grief fade away to nothing. “Of course. The best.”  
  
It wasn’t a perfect solution; but it was still enough.


	8. Chapter 8

I _was a child and_ she _was a child,  
In this kingdom by the sea,  
But we loved with a love that was more than love,  
I and my Annabel Lee;  
With a love that the wïnged seraphs of heaven  
Coveted her and me._  
(Edgar Allen Poe)  
  
Albus lay on his back in the long grass by the lake. Molten sunshine bathed everything in sight with a gold-tinted glare.   
  
Albus viewed the world through a sheer veil hanging from his wide-brimmed straw hat. He was well aware that he looked like something from the lid of a tin of chocolate biscuits, but if it was a choice between getting to relax outside with pollen around every corner, and wearing funny headgear, he'd chose the funny headgear every time.  
  
Norma had screamed with laughter when she saw the hat. Albus was grateful to her for breaking the ice. To be fair, Rambo probably wouldn't have noticed if Albus was wearing a full-length ball gown and a tiara, but both Titania and Scorpius looked like their opinions were torn between horror and pity. Both of them were far too mindful of Albus' feelings to mention it, however. Norma had no such reservations.   
  
"Shall I get you some white gloves to eat your strawberries and cream, your highness?" she'd asked, dropping a mock curtsey. Albus swatted her - "I'll give _you_ white gloves!" - and things were fine after that. Scorpius ventured to ask where he'd got the hat, and they fell into a discussion about Samire and her questionable grasp of sartorial physics.   
  
Exams were over and the whole school was rejoicing. Although the results and rankings were yet to be released, Albus was confident that he had at least passed every subject. Further ambitions on that score had he none. Scorpius had gone around looking pale and drawn for the entire week, while Rambo had taken to muttering spells in his sleep - and setting the bed-curtains on fire more than once.   
  
Now, Scorpius was massaging his left wrist and looking speculatively at his still ink-stained fingers. "I haven't been able to straighten out my hand properly since History of Magic," he announced.  
  
"Me either!" declared Rambo, waving a chubby paw as proof. "But I'm working on combining a muscle-relaxing spell with my mum's hand lotion - it should work a treat."  
  
"Sure." Scorpius looked sorry that he'd ever brought up the topic.   
  
Before Rambo could offer to share some of his concoction - which would probably end up either poisoning him or breaking his fingers - Albus asked, "What are you doing for the summer?"  
  
"Probably going to our house in Italy," replied Scorpius. The way he said it, Albus wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that the house in Italy was built around a pit of scorpions and was assailed daily by axe-wielding barbarian dentists.   
  
"Aunt Hannah's invited us to stay for a month," said Titania.  
  
"Yeah, I think she wishes she had kids of her own." Norma spat out a volley of apple pips. She had the longest range of anyone Albus had ever seen - six feet on a good day.  
  
"Oh yeah," said Rambo, "Dad said to invite all of you to stay if you want. He especially wants to meet you, Al."  
  
"That'd be cool." Albus brightened. The prospect of escaping James was always a promising one.  
  
"I'll write to him when we go back inside," said Rambo, and returned to triangulating magical equations on a bit of dirty parchment.  
  
As midday approached, the sun bleached the still, shimmering water of the Great Lake. Albus retreated to the shade of a willow, soon followed by Scorpius and Titania. Norma and Rambo didn't appear to notice the sunburn reddening the backs of their necks as they argued - Albus was too far away to determine if it were about Rambo's hand lotion idea or something more prosaic, like whether the milk should be added before or after the tea.  
  
Titania quickly made herself comfortable, kicking off her shoes and socks and padding a root with dock leaves. She was soon fast asleep, snoring slightly. Scorpius and Albus sat shoulder to shoulder. The rough bark scratched Albus' back, but he wouldn't have moved for the world. He watched as Scorpius' eyes fluttered before eventually closing, long dark lashes sweeping the purple smudges under his eyes. Albus fell asleep to the sound of his friends' breathing and the chirping of lustful crickets in the grass.  
  
When he opened his eyes again, the sun was riding lower in the sky. The twins and Rambo had disappeared - probably, as Albus' stomach reminded him, because it was nearly dinner time. Scorpius had shifted around in his sleep until his face was pillowed on Albus' shoulder, on to which he was drooling. Albus grinned and wondered what Christine would think of that.   
  
The four Houses mixed far more freely during exam week, as they waited nervously outside the exam halls and compared notes afterwards. Albus had been unwillingly privy to a conversation between a smug Christine and a few of her sycophantic cronies, during which Christine described Scorpius as her 'Prince Charming.' Albus had been waiting for a chance to drop that gem into the conversation - Scorpius was so prickly about what they called the Girlfriend Situation that doing it at the wrong time would be an invitation to getting his head chewed off.  
  
Albus stared out across the lake, the smile melting off his face. Nothing about the Girlfriend Situation tickled him for long. A fortnight before exams started, Scorpius had started wearing a plaited unicorn wristlet. He'd nearly given Norma a black eye when she teased him over it. Albus didn't like the fact that Scorpius was so unwilling to share that part of his life with the rest of them, although by now he shouldn't have been surprised.   
  
He also didn't like Christine very much. Before she'd set her sights on Scorpius, Albus had probably thought her a very pretty girl. She had big brown velvety eyes ('like chocolate buttons,' Rambo had said wistfully) and a drop of olive in her skin. She looked like a Mediterranean princess; it was a perfect contrast to Scorpius' arctic features.  
  
But Christine was arrogant and self-centred and reminded Albus far too much of James and Rose. She'd also pushed a wedge between Scorpius and his friends. Albus just didn't understand why Scorpius needed a girlfriend at all. All five of them could have made friendship bracelets if Scorpius was so invested in arm jewellery. He could have held hands with Norma or Titania in the halls - hell; he could have held hands with Albus, if it was so important to him.  
  
In Albus’ eyes the negligible appeal seemed to be vastly outweighed by the negatives. Like having to carry Christine's books, and listen to the ninnies that passed for Christine's friends, and basically just be around Christine at all. Albus was the only one of Scorpius' friends that Christine approved of, and at that only barely. Albus knew that Christine thought Rambo was weird and dangerous, and the twins, criminally unfeminine. Albus remained amazed at Scorpius' ignorance of her opinions. At least he hoped it was ignorance. The alternative - that Scorpius knew about Christine's opinions and didn't care, or worse, agreed - didn't bear thinking about.  
  
His vision was dazzled when he finally blinked himself free of his thoughts. A tall, loping figure was making its way across the lawn to him. As it came closer and Albus' eyes remembered how to focus, he saw that it was Morse Lovegood.  
  
"Hello," said Morse. Albus sat up straighter and pushed his hat back.  
  
"Hey, Morse," he said. "How were your exams?"  
  
Morse shrugged. "Reasonable, I suppose. I think examinations are a facile way of testing our abilities, but I daresay I passed all the same. What about you?"  
  
"By the skin of my teeth in Potions," said Albus, "but otherwise okay."  
  
"You've missed a lot of classes from being sick - you should be happy with just passing."  
  
Albus bristled. "Being sick is no reason to fail exams. Besides, I kept up with my homework every time I was in the infirmary."  
  
"Of course." Morse had large eyes; the irises were such a pale blue they almost blended into his corneas. He could smile with his eyes even when his mouth was stationary, and he was doing it now. "I didn't mean to offend you. I know some people regard illness as a sign of weakness, but I think it's a test of fortitude."  
  
"A test from who?"  
  
"I don't know." Morse shrugged expansively. "God, the universe, your own personal demons. I've known people sicker than you who've achieved more than most healthy people, and I definitely know people who'd stop the world because they sprained a toe. Everyone can see when you're being tested, but it doesn't mean that the tests don't come to everyone eventually."  
  
"Some people could definitely do with a really hard test," said Albus, thinking of his brother and his cousin.  
  
"You can be assured," said Morse, "that they are the ones already being tested with the most pain." He rummaged in his pocket. Albus saw that Morse’s black robes were covered over in patchwork diamonds of all colours and patterns, stitched on with large loops of red yarn. The effect was both strange and interesting. "Discussions of a philosophical nature are not why I sought you today, however. Here."  
  
He held out a crumpled yellow envelope. Curiosity piqued, Albus pulled out the gilt-edged card inside and read the printed message.   
  
"Your mum's getting married?" said Albus. He was a little shocked - the parents of most people he knew were married already. But at the same time it was kind of fun. Albus would have liked to go to his own parents' wedding, mainly to see if their hair really was as tragic back then as it looked in the photographs.   
  
Morse nodded. "On the twenty-first of June - the summer solstice. Luna said I could invite a number of people from school as my own guests. Your parents will be getting an invitation from her, of course, but this one's for you."  
  
"Does that mean my brother and sister aren't invited?" asked Albus.  
  
"I'm afraid they're not," said Morse, sounding worried. "I thought you might like to come, because you use one of my mother's wands and we're in the same House. But I've already given all my other invitations away."  
  
"No, that's great," said Albus. "I mean, it's great that I won't have to put up with James. I'd love to come."  
  
"That's wonderful news - I'll write to Luna and Rolf immediately." Morse smiled with his mouth as well as his eyes; the effect was that of the sun coming out from behind a cloud.  
  
"Do you call your parents by their first names?" said Albus. "Luna's your mum's given name, right?"  
  
"I always have done," said Morse. "I think I used to call Luna 'mummy' when I was very small, but my father was always Dean to me. After a while, I suppose I realised that Luna was more than just my mother, and it felt unfair to call her that."  
  
"Wait," said Albus, slightly dizzy, "then - Rolf? He isn't your dad?"  
  
"No," said Morse. He sounded surprised at the question. "Silly me, I always assume everyone knows that Dean Thomas is my father. He lives in America now, but he and Luna haven't been involved since before I was born."  
  
"That's -"  
  
"Strange, I know," said Morse.  
  
"I was going to say awesome," said Albus. "I mean, you have to get twice as many presents at Christmas - and you get to go to America when you want to see your dad!"  
  
"No one's ever put it like that before," said Morse thoughtfully. "Anyway, I must leave you now. If I stand in the sun much longer I'll end up black and red instead of black and white, and that would greatly confuse people."  
  
Albus waved him off, inadvertently jolting Scorpius awake. Scorpius smacked his dry lips together. "Whazzat? What'd I miss?"  
  
"I got a wedding invitation," said Albus gleefully.  
  
"Luna Lovegood and Rolf Scamander," read Scorpius aloud. "Now there's a match made in heaven."  
  
"Not everyone can be you and Christine," snapped Albus. Scorpius opened his eyes wider.  
  
"I didn't mean it like _that_ ," he said. "Luna's a naturalist of some renown, and Rolf's dad wrote that famous _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_. When people who have a lot in common get married it's normal to call it a match made in heaven. Just for your information."  
  
"Oh," said Albus, chastened.   
  
"Unless you have any more criticisms to make about me," said Scorpius coolly, "how about we go in for dinner?"  
  
Albus scrambled to his feet and caught up with Scorpius, who was striding away through the dry grass. "Listen - wait, I'm sorry!"  
  
"What for?" Scorpius stopped and waited for Albus to catch his breath, although it probably had more to do with Scorpius not wanting to bring on an attack than a gesture of comradeship.   
  
What for, indeed? Albus was mainly sorry that Scorpius and Christine had ever crossed paths. He shrugged, but before he could come up with a suitably vague reply, a horribly familiar laugh rang out across the grounds.  
  
"Wonderful," said Albus, and to Scorpius' raised eyebrows he added, "Here comes James."  
  
James, Rose and a hunting pack of Gryffindors were roving the lawn, cutting off Albus and Scorpius from the main doors. To get inside they'd have to break through enemy ranks or else go the long way around by the greenhouses. When James spotted them and smiled menacingly, even the latter option was nullified.  
  
"Your brother really doesn't like you, does he?" Scorpius eyed the approaching Gryffindors warily.  
  
"Believe me," said Albus through gritted teeth, "the feeling is entirely mutual."  
  
"Albus!" called James, mock-heartily. "I nearly didn't recognise you in that bonnet. _So_ chic. I've always wanted a drag queen for a brother."  
  
Albus scanned the immediate area, searching for an escape route. Rose was smiling at James' words, and a couple of other Gryffindors were guffawing. If there hadn't been such an undercurrent of spite hidden beneath James' words, even Albus might have found them a little funny.   
  
James strolled closer, hands plunged deep into his robe pockets. "And if it isn't the would-be saviour of soft toys everywhere, Scorpion Malfoy himself! Is this my lucky day or what?"  
  
"My name is Scorpius, you imbecile." Scorpius' chin was up; the fight was on.  
  
A chorus of 'Ooh-er's broke out from the assembled Gryffindors. James staggered backwards in a pretend swoon. "It speaks!"  
  
"Let's go," said Albus to Scorpius, who nodded. They took a step towards the castle, but suddenly James was blocking their way.  
  
"Leaving so soon? And we haven't even had a chance to catch up."  
  
"Piss off," snarled Albus. James smacked him lightly on the cheek.  
  
"Such crudity deserves to be punished," he said. "I take it you haven't said anything to Ma or Da about your little escapade in the woods, which is right and proper. But I just want to make sure you keep up the good work."  
  
"I'm not a tattletale." Albus shifted his gaze to Rose, who flushed angrily. "If Aunt Hermione finds out about that it won't be me who told her."  
  
"Here's the thing, though." James leaned close to whisper in his ear. "Two weeks of detention takes a lot of explaining away. Not to mention that Bones is probably going to say something in her end-of-term report - something, maybe, about Rose taking a kiddie’s toy for a joke, and the joke getting out of hand?"  
  
Albus felt his blood boil at the dismissive way James mentioned Mouse. He bit his lip till he tasted copper, desperately wanting to avoid showing his resentment to a boy who would use it as a weapon.  
  
"So -" James tweaked the veil of Albus' hat "- what you need to do is write a letter to Aunt Hermione _first_ , telling her that it was all a mistake - and that the reason you didn't explain it to Bones was that you were busy having one of your pathetic episodes -"  
  
"I'll tell her nothing of the sort," said Albus. "If Rose didn't want to get in trouble maybe she shouldn't have stolen something from another person's tent and purposely destroyed it."  
  
"I was afraid you'd be like this," sighed James. "Rose?"  
  
"On it," said Rose. The Gryffindors circled James and Albus, hiding them from plain view. "We're clear."  
  
"Consider this a little added persuasion," said James, and punched Albus in the stomach.  
  
Albus was prepared for it; he clenched his stomach muscles just before impact, which lessened the blow. His hands sought out James' hair - twice as long as Albus', because James was affected and vain - and pulled two handfuls in opposite directions. James landed another punch and began to scratch Albus' face. Albus tackled him to the ground. While James kicked like a ninja, Albus bit anything he could find.  
  
James was Albus' superior in strength and skill, but Albus had one thing going for him that made their fights evenly matched: pure, white-hot battle rage. When he was seven James had broken his arm and Albus had still ripped James' earlobe clean away from his skull with his teeth. They told Mum they'd fallen down the stairs while wrestling.   
  
Somewhere beyond the buzzing that rattled his skull from within, Albus could hear shouts. A few of them sounded like they belonged to Scorpius. Albus was vaguely aware of the fact that he wouldn't win this fight, not with ten Gryffindors ready to take James' place and afterwards swear blind that Albus had been mauled by the Giant Squid. When hands tugged at his shoulders he wrenched away, ripping the seams of his robes. Only when Scorpius screamed in his ear did Albus let his body go slack.  
  
James was lying on the grass, coughing up blood and what looked like a couple of teeth. Instinctively Albus felt around the inside of his mouth with his tongue, but all his teeth seemed intact for once. Scorpius was still shouting - but not at him.  
  
"- dare you!" he was yelling at James. "Don't you realise your brother is sick? He's too weak to fight you! Why don't you pick on someone your own size?"  
  
"What?" Albus pulled himself out of Scorpius' grasp. With a final gasp, his sleeve gave up the ghost and parted ways with the rest of his robe. He saw that he had a long scratch down his arm that was beading with blood. "What are you _doing_?"  
  
Scorpius was pale as death, his hair matted with sweat. "He jumped on you - he's - you're barely able to -"  
  
" _Don't you dare pity me_!" Albus' scream rent the air and he was away, running as fast as his legs would take him from the Judas who'd betrayed him.  
  
+_+_+  
  
All in all it had been a clean enough fight on Albus' side. He had a few deep scratches and some sore places that would be mottled bruises by morning, but nothing was broken or seriously damaged. Albus sat on his bed, his tongue sticking out with concentration as he bathed the scratches in Murtlap tentacle juice. His robe was a write-off, but with any luck he'd have grown out of it by next term anyway.  
  
It was the first time he'd been alone in the dormitory all year. He hadn't felt like facing people, so he avoided the Great Hall and managed to beg a few ham sandwiches from the house elves. House elves being house elves, he'd come away with half a pig stuffed between enough freshly-baked bread to feed an army, not to mention a whole pitcher of cranberry juice all to himself. As dinner hour came and went, the dormitory remained empty. Rambo was obviously in the Clubhouse. Eoghan and Conan were probably in the common room or even outside, soaking up the last rays of the evening.  
  
Albus was just dozing off - the exertions of the fight had really taken it out of him - when there was a scuffle of excited feet on the stairs outside. A moment later Eoghan burst into the room, Conan hot on his heels.  
  
"There's a Slytherin in the common room and it's all your fault!" declared Eoghan. Conan rolled his eyes.  
  
"It's your friend, the Malfoy kid," he said. "You'd better come quickly, or he's going to get lynched. Penwyn has already given him detention for the rest of the week."  
  
"Scorpius is here?" said Albus stupidly, but he followed his dorm-mates into the common room.  
  
Scorpius was standing in the middle of what looked like every Hufflepuff in the building, his face proud and defiant. Raymond Skeeter-Cresswell was shouting something about trespassing, but it was clear Scorpius wasn't taking in a word. His eyes latched on to Albus', and Albus nearly tripped over his own feet trying to maintain the contact.  
  
"How did you -" asked Albus, as soon as he got within hearing range.  
  
"Rambo," said Scorpius. "Voley was surprised to see me - although not as surprised as I was to see him. 'Haven't had a Slytherin in these quarters for three hundred years,' he said."  
  
"I can't say I find that surprising," said Albus. "So that's 'how are you here?' Now for the 'why are you here?'"  
  
"To apologise," said Scorpius simply. "I'd rather do this somewhere else, but I wasn't sure how soon you'd be ready to talk, and I'm leaving tomorrow."  
  
"Leaving tomorrow?" Albus felt his stomach plummet. "Why?"  
  
Scorpius' eyes darted sideways, to where Penwyn was fondling his wand in a distinctly unfriendly manner. "Our plans have changed," he said evasively. Albus realised Scorpius didn't relish the thought of discussing his family in front of Hufflepuff House.   
  
"Come on," said Albus, relenting. "Let's go talk."  
  
"It's nearly curfew," Raymond called out. "If you're one second late coming in that door -"  
  
"You'll give me detention, I know," said Albus impatiently. "How stunningly original." He grabbed Scorpius by the arm and dragged him out of there, before Raymond decided to forego traditional methods of punishment in favour of hexing both of them into next Wednesday.  
  
The Clubhouse was empty when they arrived. The windows were wide open, letting in a refreshing breeze. Albus sat in his usual hammock. After a little hesitation, Scorpius slipped in beside him.  
  
"The others outside?" Albus asked.  
  
"I suppose so. I asked them to ... let us have some time alone." Scorpius took a deep breath. "I was really angry at James for attacking you. I was ready to fight him myself because of it. What I don't understand is why you're angry with _me_."  
  
"Because," said Albus, "you as good as said I was too weak to stand up for myself."  
  
"But you are too weak to stand up for yourself," said Scorpius, sounding eerily like Norma. "You've been seriously ill three times this year. Last I checked professional duellers didn't include immunity diseases in their training regimens."  
  
"You don't get it." Albus squeezed a pillow, watching his knuckles whiten. "It doesn't matter if we were ... unfairly matched, or something. It doesn't matter if I _lose_. What matters is that I try. Lots of people, people who aren't sick, wouldn't be able to beat James in a fight. That's not the point."  
  
"But it kind of is," said Scorpius. " _You_ don't get it either. You don't know how horrible it is when you're lying there in the infirmary, looking like you've already ... I hate seeing you get hurt, don't you understand that?"  
  
"You do?" Albus scratched his neck uncertainly. "I didn't realise - look, I thought you were feeling sorry for me. I hate when people feel sorry for me. I didn't feel sorry for you when you were worried about your mum having a baby. Your pity makes me pathetic."  
  
"I'm sorry if my sympathy offends you," snapped Scorpius, "but I can't stop feeling one way just because you don't like it. And I don't think you're pathetic _at all_. James is the pathetic one, bullying you like that."  
  
"He's not bullying me!"  
  
"Oh." Scorpius' mouth went tender. "I see." He pushed the pillow gently aside and took Albus' hand, gripping it hard. His palm was soft and hot.   
  
After a minute, Albus squeezed back. At that moment he thought he understood why Scorpius wanted to hold hands with Christine so much: because it felt good, and comforting, and right.   
  
"You want to stand up to him to prove you're not a victim."  
  
"I'm _not_ a victim!"  
  
"I know." Scorpius' voice was soothing, as soothing as the little circles his thumb was tracing on Albus' wrist. "I know."  
  
Albus let his eyes fall shut, let his body relax against Scorpius'. His voice, when he finally spoke, was drowsy. "I got dragon-pox when I was three years old," he said. "We were visiting my Uncle Charlie at a dragon reserve and James accidentally pushed me into a dung-pit. James ... he always hated to get into trouble, so he ran off and hid. It was hours before anyone found me. By then I'd been exposed to the fumes for too long for the normal potions to work. I was in St Mungo's for six months that time. They thought I was going to lose my magic. Eventually they managed to clear my temporal gland, but the pox started attacking my immune system instead. By the time they actually got rid of it, my immunity was permanently damaged."  
  
Scorpius shifted, leaning back slightly so that Albus could fit his head into the crook of Scorpius' neck. "At first I just used to get colds. Colds, all the time, all during summer. Then it was ear infections and 'flus. See, they didn't realise my immune system was shot until I was about six. Lily was four by then. Her and Mum and me went to France to see a specialist Healer - Samire, the lady you met in March. We lived there for a year.   
  
“Samire managed to get my immune system stabilised. We went home, I had an attack and nearly died, so me and Mum went back to France and stayed there till I was ten. Samire put me on some seriously heavy-duty potions. They worked, but I used to get diarrhoea, vomit blood, my eyes were yellow, my skin was grey. James called me a monster. We only saw each other a couple of times a year. He was really attached to Mum, but she and Dad decided it would be better for James and Lily to stay in England with Dad. To pretend everything was normal. James has never, ever forgiven me for taking Mum away."  
  
Albus stopped talking, his mouth parched. Scorpius' fingers were entwined with his so tightly they looked as if they'd been born that way.  
  
"And now? What potions are you on now?"  
  
"The strongest ones I can be on. I need to wait till I'm older to start taking adult potions - I mean, my growth has already been stunted. The full-on potions might make me infertile, or I could permanently lose my hair. Samire said I need to give my body time to adjust. Till then, I have to stay away from triggers that will make my immune system attack itself, because it's completely unregulated. It can't tell the difference between the triggers and, like, my liver, or my blood."  
  
"Oh god." Scorpius sounded strange. When Albus turned his head, he realised it was because Scorpius was crying. "Don't - I'm not _pitying_ you, I'm just -"  
  
"I used to cry a lot," mused Albus. "There were weeks when I could hardly move, when I was so sick it felt like my body was eating itself. I don't cry any more."  
  
"What do you want?" Scorpius' face was haggard. "I mean - tell me what to do."  
  
"I'd prefer you not to mention it, or talk about it," said Albus. "I really just want to be normal - or as close as I can get."  
  
"Okay," said Scorpius.  
  
"You can start by telling me why you're going home early - Prince Charming."  
  
"Oh, just so Mother can take Celerity to see our grandparents there - wait, what? Prince what?"  
  
Albus grinned ferally. "I overheard your girlfriend calling you that. You know ..." he stared thoughtfully at Scorpius' mop of curls "... a nice big crown would really go with your eyes."  
  
"Shuddup," growled Scorpius.   
  
"How about a white horse? Can't be Prince Charming without a white horse. Or maybe a broomstick painted white."  
  
"She - you shouldn't take that seriously." Scorpius' cheeks were bright pink.   
  
"Tell me something," said Albus, unable to stop himself, "why?"  
  
"Why? Because Christine only says things like that to -"  
  
"No, I mean - why do you have a girlfriend?"  
  
"Well, she asked me," said Scorpius. "And I couldn't see any reason to say no."  
  
"But you don't need another friend when you have us."  
  
"Albus ..." Scorpius shook his head. "A girlfriend isn't the same as a girl who's your friend."  
  
"Yeah, I know." Albus made a face. "With a girlfriend you have to hold hands and carry her books. Big deal."  
  
Scorpius was quiet for a moment, his thumb still tapping Albus' wrist absent-mindedly. When he spoke, his voice was husky. "There's also the kissing and stuff."  
  
"Kissing - wait, you kiss her? _Gross_!" Albus dropped Scorpius' hand to scrub at his ears. Then a stronger force than instinctive disgust overtook him. "Where? On the cheek?"  
  
"Usually." Scorpius' voice was almost inaudible. "But also ... on the mouth."  
  
"On the _mouth_!" screamed Albus. "So you've got girl germs all _inside you_? That's horrible - completely horrible and twisted."  
  
"We've only done it twice," said Scorpius hastily. "It's actually kind of nice."  
  
"It's _kissing_! It's not _nice_!"  
  
"Don't knock it till you've tried it." Scorpius was laughing now. "Sooner or later we all have to do it."  
  
Albus shuddered. "I'm not kissing Christine. Yuk."  
  
"I should think not. She's _my_ girlfriend."  
  
But not forever, Albus hoped.   
  
Scorpius looped his fingers into Albus' again. "That Penwyn Jones is a piece of work, isn't he?"  
  
"At least he'll be gone next year," said Albus. "My ambition is to not get any detentions at all once he’s gone."  
  
Scorpius smirked, eking a twin smile from Albus' still horror-rounded lips. "We should aim higher than that. There's still a few days left of term. You still have those Dysentery Drops, don't you?"  
  
"Yeah, in my trunk, but why - oh."  
  
"You're thinking what I'm thinking," said Scorpius, and Albus nodded.  
  
"Payback is sweet."  
  
They sat in the hammock till the sun set, plotting with hands clasped.


	9. Chapter 9

_They fuck you up, your mum and dad.  
They may not mean to, but they do.  
They fill you with the faults they had  
And add some extra, just for you._  
(Philip Larkin)  
  
Titania caught up with Albus as he was trawling the Hufflepuff common room, in search of quills and sundry other items he was sure he hadn't left there, but which he hadn't managed to locate in any other logical location. She sat down on an armchair he'd just been planning to tear apart for the sake of what might be hiding under the cushions, and made a pensive face.  
  
Albus decided a few ratty quills could wait a minute. He hadn't seen Titania look that serious since - well, he'd never seen Titania look that serious. Norma could be gloomy when one of her cunning plans was going pear-shaped, but Titania didn't appear to possess an ounce of cunning; besides which, she was terminally happy-go-lucky, except in the half-hour before a meal.  
  
"What's up?" he asked, perching on the arm of the chair.  
  
"I've been thinking." Titania frowned massively. "About Scorpius and Christine. You know, if you wanted to, I could be your girlfriend."  
  
Albus very nearly fell down on the floor.  
  
"What?" he managed.  
  
"It's a bit strange, Scorpius being with Christine like that," said Titania, "but I figure, Rambo could have Norma, and you could have me, and then we'd all be the same again."  
  
Scorpius' words came back to Albus with a thud, and he repeated them: "A girlfriend's not a girl who's your friend, you know."  
  
"Yes, I know," said Titania, a trifle impatiently.   
  
"I don't really want a girlfriend," said Albus. It was a weak reply, but for some reason Titania brightened.  
  
"Oh, that's a relief," she said. "I didn't really want a boyfriend either. No offence, but boys _smell_ funny. I just thought you'd like to keep up with Scorpius."  
  
"Not in that way," said Albus, very definitely. Titania grinned.  
  
"I'm glad we got that cleared up. Do you fancy bringing a picnic down to the Lake later?"  
  
"Sounds great," said Albus. Titania, the worry draining from her face like water swirling down a plughole, clomped off to do whatever it was girls did in the dormitories. Albus collapsed into the armchair sideways, banging his head rather sharply.  
  
"Girls are _weird_ ," he informed a small statue of Helga Hufflepuff. She rolled her eyes at him.  
  
Two more sweeps of the room yielding nothing in the small stationary stakes, Albus was about to go tackle the last of his non-essential packing when Penwyn ducked into the common room. Albus immediately shrank behind a bookcase. Penwyn didn't spot him - or if he did, he was making an excellent show of nonchalance, which included slumping on a sofa, unbuttoning the collar of his robes and fishing out his reading glasses to peruse a day-old _Prophet_.  
  
Albus fingered the tin of Dysentery Drops he kept in his pocket, in readiness for the opportune moment. Ideally he'd hoped to catch both Penwyn and Raymond at the same time, but this chance seemed foolproof. He drew out the tin and opened the lid in tiny increments, squeezing the edges with his fingers to prevent the smallest scraping noise from escaping. The Drops were quivering with anticipation by the time he'd succeeded. Hooking a fingertip into the writhing mass, Albus secured one. It balanced on his nail, gently swaying to and fro.  
  
It had been simple enough to steal a few scraps of food from the prefects' plates. Titania and Rambo were both enthusiastic gastronomists, so it was not considered unusual for them to linger at the Hufflepuff table long after they could reasonably be expected to have eaten their full. However, Albus had come up trumps with Penwyn when he realised Penwyn's disgusting habit of clipping his nails into the fire could work in his favour. Penwyn was a Muggle-born and didn't trust a spell not to sever his whole finger off; not all the exhortations and reprimands Raymond could conjure had yet managed to dissuade him. Albus set up watch on the common room fires and, at length, had managed to sweep up two tiny white crescents from the hearth.  
  
These he'd inserted into a pouch stuck to the lid of the tin. The clippings seemed determined to reside there for the foreseeable future, but after a few minutes of quiet struggle Albus got them to change their minds. He didn't dare use magic, both in case Penwyn felt it, and in case it would affect the Drops in ways unknown.   
  
The Drop on his fingertip swarmed the two clippings, reaching out pseudopodia to enclose them in a loving embrace. If the Drop ate them or dissolved them Albus couldn't tell, and didn't greatly care. He brought his hand to his lips and whispered, "Penwyn Jones."  
  
The Drop leaped, scattering into a hundred thousand tiny droplets like the spray of a fountain. It disappeared from Albus' sight and he guessed that it had camouflaged itself. He watched from behind the bookcase as Penwyn suddenly grimaced in pain. He clutched his stomach, and a haze of sweat broke and shimmered over his forehead.  
  
Albus had expected to feel ... triumphant, or at the very least satisfied, to see his enemy brought so low. What he felt instead was a dragging sensation in his lower belly, the one he got when he forgot to complete his homework or write home in time for the last weekly post. He shook his head in annoyance and headed for his dormitory. He was just being silly. Penwyn deserved what he got; and Albus was glad, nothing but glad.  
  
+_+_+  
  
Professor Longbottom looked unusually grave when he met Albus in the hall and asked him to go to the Headmistress' office. Although he was the same age as Dad, Professor Longbottom had a young face, and it was always merry even though he rarely smiled. When he did smile his years told on him, because the action brought out all the lines carved deeply around his eyes and mouth.  
  
He wasn't smiling now. "The Headmistress will fill you in when you arrive," he replied to Albus' question. "She'd rather talk to you herself about this matter."  
  
"All right," said Albus. He deliberately cleared his mind. There were so many things his godmother might want to speak to him about that it was of no use getting nervous, or trying to figure out which one it was.  
  
Professor Longbottom left him at the foot of the spiral stairs. Albus carefully measured each step, calculating just how long he could drag his feet. There was a niggle at the back of his mind, demanding to know why he was dawdling, but he refused to pay attention to it.  
  
The afternoon sun slanted into the office from the high, stained-glass windows. The weather was warm enough to preclude lighting a fire, but Headmistress McGonagall was wrapped in three or four grey shawls over a winter-weight woollen robe. She looked up when Albus entered, creaking over the honey-coloured wood floor.  
  
"Come here," she said, with a small smile. "I want to show you something."  
  
Albus obeyed, although tight bands seemed to be crushing his chest. There was _no reason_ to be afraid, and yet he was. McGonagall spread a sheaf of photographs across her desk. Albus could not detect movement, so he guessed they were of Muggle origin. When he got close enough to see them clearly, he gasped.  
  
The children in the photographs were painfully thin, eyes huge in their emaciated faces. Each child was hunched over, skin dropping in folds from bones Albus could count in their dozens. They all had distended bellies, which were at odds with their otherwise starved-looking frames.  
  
"These boys and girls live in Africa, where there is a chronic food and clean water shortage," said McGonagall. "I won't go into the details, many of which I am unclear about myself. If you decide to take Muggle Studies in third-year you will learn more than I can tell you. The people of Africa are poor, ravaged by war and civil unrest. Children -" McGonagall took off her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose "- children are always the first to suffer in situations like this. They are malnourished, as you can see. But they are also ill, because they must drink unclean water if they want to drink at all. One of the diseases most common among these children is amoebiasis."  
  
"Amy - what?"  
  
"Amoebiasis - a disease with painful symptoms of cramping and diarrhoea. It is caused by ..." McGonagall paused, frowning "... little bugs in the water, I believe. They get in when the water supply is contaminated." She waved her wand. The photographs stacked themselves neatly and zoomed into a desk drawer, which opened to receive them. "Aside from the obvious discomforts, amoebiasis is a serious condition because the body loses salt and water, without which it cannot function properly - or eventually, at all."  
  
Albus stared at the floor. He didn't want to look at McGonagall's face any more. He didn't know why she was telling him this either, but that was a secondary concern.  
  
"I suppose you're wondering why I brought you up here to give a lecture on Muggle diseases," said McGonagall. "I won't keep you in suspense any longer. Amoebiasis is more commonly known as dysentery."  
  
The edge of Albus' vision went black. He heard a loud thump. He thought at first that something had fallen, before he realised it was his own heart hammering in his ears.  
  
 _Amoebiasis is more commonly ... painful symptoms ... cannot function properly ... dysentery ... painful ... dysentery ... dysentery..._  
  
"I -" Albus swallowed and tried again. "I -"  
  
"If I had any doubts of your guilt, your face would be all the proof I needed," said McGonagall. "Although Helga the Bronze is usually a reliable witness." She stood up and patted his shoulder once, firmly. "I'm going to leave you alone for a time. I trust you won't try and leave this office without my permission."  
  
Failing utterly to dredge a single word up from his barren throat, Albus nodded. McGonagall gave him another tight smile and swept from the room, her gnarled hands clutching her shawls close to her body.  
  
How long Albus stood staring at the floor he never knew, for there were no clocks in the room and he had never learned to tell time from the position of the sun in the sky. He certainly remained still long enough for a vicious cramp to tighten its claws into his neck. He might well have stayed like that until McGonagall returned, or kingdom came, but for hearing the sound of his own name whispered from behind.  
  
It wasn't often that anyone called him by his full name, Albus Severus Potter. If he'd been more alert he would have heard more clearly that the whispers ran 'Severus,' 'Albus, no,' 'Oh, Severus,' ' _Albus_ ,' 'Albus Potter - Albus Potter!"  
  
Albus turned slowly, his eyes searching for the hidden whisperers. All around the walls portraits of former Headmasters and Headmistresses slumbered, hands stretched over rubicund waists, faces drooped with age and sleep. Only two Headmasters were awake. By the time Albus' eyes drifted over to them, they were both staring at him.  
  
"Albus Potter," said one, rolling the name around in his mouth like a sweet. He had a terribly stooped posture for one so young, whipcord thin arms ending in compulsively twitching fists, and hair like rotten seaweed. "Didn't take you too long to get yourself pulled in front of the Headmistress for your antics, did it? Blood will out - he was right about that, at least."  
  
"Oh, hush," said the other man, a smile flickering under his magnificent white beard. "You're still annoyed by the name order, aren't you?"  
  
"I don't have the slightest idea what you're talking about," said the younger one loftily.  
  
"How did you know my name?" asked Albus. The younger man rolled his eyes.  
  
"We live in this office. Don't you suppose that we heard the Headmistress arranging this meeting for you?" he said.  
  
"That's logical -"  
  
"Of course it is!"  
  
"- but not necessarily true," finished Albus. The old man winked at him. He was wearing a sumptuous robe of periwinkle blue, embroidered with crystals in a pattern that looked like the constellations of the Milky Way.   
  
"We knew your father, and your grandfather," said the old man. "You are very like both of them, so you had to be either James or Albus."  
  
"Most people don't know my second name, though," persisted Albus. He shifted his eyes to the younger man's frame, but he'd disappeared. A second later he strolled into the old man's portrait.  
  
"You have a much nicer background," he complained. "Of course _I_ was palmed off with Impressionistic shadows. They are excruciatingly boring."  
  
The old man said nothing, but said it with an expression that suggested he'd heard the complaint once too often.   
  
"Why don't you ask an artist to paint in something else?" asked Albus. "My friend Scorpius is great at ink drawings. He could put in some dragons or anything."  
  
The younger man dropped the orange he'd filched from the fruit bowl on the old man's table. Shaking his head in a show of indifference, he said, "Why on earth would I want ink drawings? I'm an oil painting!"  
  
Albus shrugged. "Give you something new to complain about, wouldn't it?"  
  
"He's got you there," chuckled the old man.  
  
"Scorpius," said the younger man, retrieving his orange. "That's an old Malfoy name."  
  
" _You_ are friends with a Malfoy?" said the old man, his eyes briefly flaring blue fire.  
  
"I can't believe this! Even paintings give me stick over it!" exclaimed Albus. "Yes, I'm friends with a _Malfoy_. Watch out, the sky may fall in!"  
  
"Whose blood will out now?" asked the old man quietly.  
  
"Shut up," said the younger man, without rancour.  
  
At that moment, the office door opened and Professor McGonagall entered, trailing Professor Longbottom. "Who were you speaking to - oh, I see you've met your namesakes."  
  
"My what?"  
  
"Albus, let me introduce you to two of our greatest former Headmasters - Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape."  
  
Albus gaped. "Well. You could have _said_ something."  
  
"That wouldn't have been half so amusing," said Dumbledore serenely. Severus kept mum, shooting Albus a glower from under his thick eyebrows.  
  
"Regarding your attack on Penwyn Jones," said McGonagall, settling in behind her desk, "I have decided not to punish you. For one thing, I've become aware that Jones and his accomplice have been abusing their authority because of that issue with the Never-ending Parchment. For another, it is nearly the end of term -"  
  
"Please, Professor," said Albus, "I think I need a punishment."  
  
McGonagall exchanged a startled look with Longbottom. "I don't believe I've ever heard a student _ask_ for punishment before."  
  
"You should have been around in my day - you would have learned a thing or two," drawled a portrait behind the desk.  
  
"Shut up, Phineas," said McGonagall, almost reflexively. "Very well, you can spend the day mucking out the greenhouses with Professor Longbottom. But first, you will please tell me why you believe you need to be punished."  
  
"I didn't think," said Albus. "I've been - I am - sick. You said it was painful. I never thought ... I should have thought."  
  
"You couldn't have been expected to know," said McGonagall.   
  
"I knew it was going to make him sick," said Albus fiercely. "I wanted him to be sick! And he deserved to be sick, because he was mean and cruel even before he started in on me. But I don't like the way it made _me_ feel - knowing that I was the one who _made_ him sick. I should have thought of that."  
  
"All right," said Professor Longbottom, coming forward and ushering Albus towards the door. "I'm going to find you the dirtiest, nastiest weeds to root out of my vegetable garden. If that doesn't make you feel appropriately castigated, then nothing will."  
  
Albus nodded. "I'm sorry, Aunt Minerva."  
  
"I know you are," said McGonagall. "And I'm happy that you are. This is something you should feel sorry about, so don't try to bury the feeling too soon."  
  
Albus nodded in agreement and let Longbottom guide him out. He caught a last glimpse of his namesakes, standing together in one portrait. Dumbledore had his hand on Severus' shoulder. For one short, strange moment, the look on Dumbledore's face reminded him of one Albus sometimes saw on Scorpius'. Just as quickly it was gone, and so was Albus.  
  
+_+_+  
  
Albus smoothed down the front of his new dress robes. He wouldn't have revealed the information for the world, but he actually really liked them. Mum couldn't believe that he'd grown out of his Christmas ones already. In spite of the extra expense, she didn't complain the way she did when James shot up a dozen centimetres in three weeks, or when Lily kicked the toes out of her new shoes. Albus knew that Mum was secretly delighted that Albus was growing at all. He knew _he_ was, although there remained the tickle of resentment at being different, at being treated with special care just because he was ill and not like the others.  
  
Unlike the Christmas robes, these were soft and didn't itch. Nor did they have collars with ambitions towards death by strangulation. The best thing about them, though, was the colour. The new robes were a rich, deep shade of burnt umber, with a simple pattern of brown squares along the hemlines and cool curved buttons made of yellow bone. Albus didn't care one way or another what colour suited him the best, but he thought the blue and silver combination was too girly. And the buttons had totally stolen his heart.  
  
He was dressed and ready well before Dad, and a whole hour before Mum. His parents had both insisted that he wake early - seven am on a holiday! Scandalous! - in order to be prepared on time. Albus had fixed himself cornflakes while Mum and Dad were still abed and groaning about getting up; had been showering in the second bathroom by the time Dad shuffled downstairs; and had even tackled his hair with a comb when Mum eventually showed her face to the world. No one in his family was an early bird, but Albus - used to the broken sleep patterns that were a gift from the horrible potions god - was at least able to force himself when necessary. His parents clearly lacked the same discipline.  
  
After about a fortnight, James had recovered from his resentment at not being asked to the Lovegood-Scamander wedding. He was now in favour of mocking Albus about the 'freakshow,' as he called it, although not in their parents' earshot. Dad liked Luna a lot, but Mum thought she was a bit loopy - something she didn't reveal to Dad, but on which Albus and James had both picked up. In the last few days James had turned sulky again, so Albus braced himself for a torrent of abuse one way or another. James' inconsistency was not the most annoying thing about him, but it was certainly very trying.  
  
Albus had avoided James while eating breakfast and getting dressed by the simple expedient of being up before James would dream of opening his eyes. Nine o'clock, while still ludicrously early by James' holiday standards, was a realistic enough time to arise - particularly when the chance of brother-baiting presented itself.  
  
"You look like a carrot," was James' opening shot.  
  
"I like carrots," said Albus. He'd at last located what he presumed to be his hairbrush, languishing under the sink in the main bathroom. Although he washed it a couple of times a week, _brushing_ his hair was not something Albus regarded as a necessity. Given how tangled it got t’weentimes, it was also a considerable trial when he did get around to it.  
  
"You're lucky," said James. "Only rabbits eat a stupider diet than you."  
  
Albus shook his head, amazed not at the crudity of the insult, but at the lows to which James would stoop in his attempts to wound him. The venom in James' tone more than made up for the unsophisticated words.  
  
"I'll bring you back some sugared almonds," he offered, and ducked the cushion James hurled at his head.  
  
At last Mum and Dad were ready, dressed to the nines in their Christmas robes. 'The only way we're growing these days is outwards,' Dad had joked. Mum had flattened Dad's hair with pomade and covered her own face with make-up. They both looked stiff and unnatural, but Albus said, "You look nice" anyway.  
  
"Thank you, darling," said Mum. She barely moved her lips in case her lipstick would smudge.   
  
"All ready, then?" Dad took Albus' hand in a vice-like grip. "On my mark!"  
  
With a wrench, Dad Side-Along Apparated Albus. He could hear the whoosh as Mum travelled in space-time beside them. Five seconds later they'd arrived at an immense and perfectly circular clearing in the middle of an orchard. The trees were a sight to behold; although it was midsummer, each was laden down both with white blossom and blushing fruit. Albus didn't even know how that was possible - maybe the fruit was fake? He resolved to try an apple later and find out.  
  
The trees along the perimeter had been strung with pennants in all colours of the rainbow and more besides. Tall, spindly lamps had been set up at intervals. For the moment the tiny globes, springing out on crooked arms like bunches of cherries, glowed faintly blue and purple. A large flower-smothered arch had been set up at the opposite end of the clearing; poinsettias glowed amidst huge sprays of babies' breath.  
  
Luna, whom Albus recognised from visiting her cottage cum wand-shop a year before, was standing under the flowered arch with a tall man. Albus guessed this was Rolf. Both of them were dressed in eye-searing yellow. Rolf's collar was so high it nearly scraped his eyeballs every time he moved his head. Luna's décolletage, on the other hand, swooped to her navel. As he followed his parents closer, Albus was relieved to see that any actual skin so revealed was covered in a layer of sheer butter-coloured satin.  
  
Morse was posted at a flower-heaped table halfway between the Apparition site and the flowered arch. He grinned widely, manoeuvring his gaze between Mum and Dad so it fell directly on Albus. Morse's robe was printed with hundreds of sunflowers against a black background; he wore his pale hair loose to his shoulders, woven with yet more, miniature sunflowers the size of Every-Flavour Beans.  
  
"Welcome, Mr and Mrs Potter," said Morse. He placed a garland of sunflowers on Mum's head, and handed a single great bloom to Dad; it magically affixed itself to the front of his robe. Morse gave Albus one sunflower as well.   
  
"These are very pretty," said Mum, touching her new head-dress uncertainly.  
  
"Thank you," said Morse. "They're part of my wedding gift to Luna. The ceremony will start shortly - are any of you hungry?"  
  
Albus started to nod, but a sharp glare from Mum halted him abruptly. But Morse had already seen it. He waved his wand and a plate of powdered doughnuts floated over to Albus.  
  
"You can't -" said Mum.  
  
"Wheat and gluten free," said Morse.   
  
"Thanks!" Albus quickly picked up a doughnut.   
  
"There will be more refreshments afterwards," said Morse. "Don't worry, Mrs Potter, you can get a doughnut then." Mum looked torn between laughter and outrage.   
  
A swish and crackle of magic signalled the arrival of more guests. Albus looked over with interest, and nearly dropped his doughnut when he spotted a familiar head of blonde curls.  
  
"Scorpius!" he yelled, forgetting entirely his mother's instructions about how to behave politely in company - not one of which included shouting in public.  
  
Scorpius lifted his head and caught sight of Albus. The hint of a smile lifted the side of his mouth. He was with his parents and dressed, as they were, in white robes with silver collars and cuffs. After shaking off the disorientation of Apparition they all made for Morse's flower table, where Albus was waiting.  
  
"You never told me you were coming!" said Albus joyfully, as soon as they got near. "Oh - hello Mr Malfoy, Mrs Malfoy. How's Celerity?"  
  
"Fine, thank you," said Mr Malfoy stiffly. He was tugging on his collar, obviously suffering from the same robe-designer as Albus had at Christmas.  
  
"She is perfectly thriving," said Mrs Malfoy. Her smile glittered as brightly as her jewels, which included a diamond pendant dropping between her breasts. Albus tried very hard not to think the word 'breasts' again. "We left her with my parents in Italy. Thank you for inquiring."  
  
"No problem," said Albus.  
  
"I don't believe I've had the pleasure," said Mrs Malfoy, turning to Mum and Dad.  
  
"Oh - I'm Mrs Potter, Ginny Potter," said Mum. She held out her hand to shake, but Mrs Malfoy ignored it, sailing in to gently clasp Mum's shoulders and kiss her on both cheeks.  
  
"Delighted," she murmured. "And you are?"  
  
"Harry Potter, at your service," said Dad. Mrs Malfoy's eyes widened, her blue irises like pools of sky.  
  
"I'm honoured, sir," she said. She kissed Dad, who went bright red and mumbled something incomprehensible. Mum glared at him.  
  
"What brings you here, Mal - uh," said Dad. He was looking over Mr Malfoy's shoulder.  
  
"I'm acquainted with Luna," said Mr Malfoy to Dad's shoes.   
  
"Ah yes. She stayed in your house once, I recall."  
  
"More than once, actually, when we became friends."  
  
"Luna certainly has odd tastes in friends."  
  
"You can say that again, _Harry_."  
  
"I hope you're not implying what I think you're implying, _Draco_."  
  
"Uh, Father?" Scorpius tugged Mr Malfoy's sleeve. He'd already pinned on his own sunflower. "Morse has something to give you."  
  
"My apologies," barked Mr Malfoy. He spun around so fast he nearly knocked his wife over and squashed his sunflower on to his robes. Mrs Malfoy was far more graceful in her acceptance; the coronet of sunflowers looked like a crown atop her creamy hair.  
  
"This is an interesting custom," she said. "Is it for luck?"  
  
"I say it is," said Morse. "Luna loves sunflowers, and I think they're such happy, cheerful flowers - all these are good things to bring to this wedding. It doesn't really matter what's lucky for other weddings."  
  
"How true." Mrs Malfoy gifted him with a brilliant smile, which Morse returned dreamily.  
  
"Your robes are, uh, very beautiful," offered Mum, when the silence had strung out for several seconds.  
  
"Oh! Thank you." Mrs Malfoy took Mum's arm. "There's this fascinating little boutique in Rome - let me tell you all about it -"  
  
"Want some of my doughnut?" asked Albus, holding it out to Scorpius.  
  
"Thanks." Scorpius broke off a bit and popped it into his mouth. Then they both stared up at their fathers, who were standing with arms crossed and looking in opposite directions.  
  
"You're acting stupid," Albus told his father.  
  
"Father, stop being so impolite," reproved Scorpius. With that, they by mutual accord left their cold-hearted sires and went to finish off the doughnut in peace.  
  
+_+_+  
  
Albus sat on the grass, which was leaving a wet patch on the seat of his robes, and watched as Morse married his mother to Rolf Scamander.   
  
When Morse got to the part about cherishing his new family, Rolf put up a hand to knuckle his eyes. Luna took it and kissed it, and with that they were married.  
  
"Is this quite legal?" whispered Scorpius in Albus' ear. His breath on Albus' neck made him shiver and giggle.  
  
"I have no idea," he replied, "but I don't think Luna Lovegood is the type to care, one way or another."  
  
"Yeah," said Scorpius and, meditatively, added, "Does she look a bit ... pregnant, to you?"  
  
Albus stared at the blushing bride. There was a certain suggestion of roundness to her abdomen. "A little brother or sister for Morse!"  
  
"A little usurper," countered Scorpius. Albus smacked him in the arm.  
  
"I thought you'd got over that horrible attitude," he said.  
  
"I have, for myself. But Rolf isn't Morse's father, whereas he _is_ the father of this kid. Both of them are going to be totally wrapped up in this baby, who's only half-blood to Morse."  
  
"I don't think that'll be a problem for them," said Albus. He watched as Rolf gathered his wife and step-son into a bear hug, from which no sunflower emerged unscathed.  
  
"Huh, well." Scorpius stretched out his legs, setting the white silk a-whispering. "I have something for you. I was going to send it, but I remembered you were coming to this wedding too."  
  
"Oh, what? But I didn't make you anything."  
  
"So?" Scorpius pulled a red braid out of his pocket. "Here, it's a friendship band."  
  
"You made this?"  
  
"No, it was the little gremlins who live at the bottom of the garden." Scorpius rolled his eyes. "Hold out your hand." He tied the band in a firm knot just below Albus' wristbone. Albus held it up to his face to admire it. The band was a work of breathtaking intricacy, a pattern in a hundred shades of red - from post-box to vermilion - flowing seamlessly all the way around.  
  
"I learned how out of this old book I found," said Scorpius. "Made a little one for Celerity too. By the time we get back to school I'll have made one for all the Club members."  
  
"You are very amazing sometimes," said Albus. He opened up Scorpius' palm and laid his own hand flat against it.  
  
"What, only sometimes? I'm insulted."  
  
"Don't be," said Albus. "I mean, you do have to sleep and all. No one amazingly sleeps."  
  
"I could manage it, I bet."  
  
Albus smiled sleepily. Hopefully there would be food soon; it seemed an awful long time since cornflakes at seven am, or even doughnuts at eleven.  
  
For some reason Morse, Luna and Rolf seemed to be in charge of refreshments. They were making the rounds of the clearing with silver trays of tall flutes. Albus perked up. "Do you think those are alcoholic?"  
  
"Who cares? It's a wedding. Live and let live, celebrate the moment, etcetera."  
  
"I meant, do you think we'll be allowed to have one?"  
  
"If we don't ask, we can't be refused," said Scorpius, with stunning logic. They snuck past their mothers, who were both laughing incredulously at the lack of waiters - although they didn't hesitate to help themselves to the champagne cocktails. Scorpius was just about to lift a glass, while Morse was chatting to some schoolfriends, when Rose stomped up to them.  
  
Albus knew Rose loved pink, which had been fine when she was younger and her hair more golden than red. It had darkened steadily as she got older; and, fashion philistine though he was, Albus could tell the combination of auburn hair and shocking pink robes was a bad one. This was even leaving aside the fact that her robes were sashed as high as any woman's, though she was barely twelve.  
  
"What do you think you're doing?" she snapped.  
  
"Playing the tambourine - what does it look like?" Scorpius' voice was lazy, but his eyes were rock-hard.  
  
"Those are champagne!" she shrilled. "I'll tell your mother."  
  
"Tell tales all you like - see if I care. C'mon, Albus."  
  
"We can always try Luna -" Albus began, when Rose cut in.  
  
"Albus is my cousin," she said. "He stays with me."  
  
Albus stared at her, too surprised to even laugh. Scorpius grabbed his wrist. "You must be joking," he said. "After what you did to Mouse? You're lucky he even looks at you, never mind hanging out with you when all your stupid little friends aren't here."  
  
"Don't you insult my friends, Malfoy." Rose spat the name like a swear-word. "What do you know about it anyway?"  
  
"Enough to know that you don't deserve a moment of _my friend's_ time," snarled Scorpius.   
  
Albus let himself be pulled away, not even looking at Rose. He was incensed by her presumption, but he also felt a wee inkling of pity for her. He knew _he_ wouldn't like to be friends with someone who had done what Rose did, even if it was to a person she hated. Maybe her friends were starting to feel the same way.  
  
"You dare walk away from me? Malfoy! Are you listening to me?" Rose grabbed the collar of Scorpius' robes. Scorpius shoved his elbow back to free himself, catapulting her into Morse's back. Champagne went everywhere, but mostly on Rose. She launched herself on Scorpius, spitting like a cat. Scorpius grabbed her hands to prevent her clawing his eyes out. Albus threw himself atop Rose and tried to roll her away.  
  
"What on earth is going on here?" thundered Aunt Hermione, red-faced from sprinting across the clearing. "All of you, stop fighting at once!"  
  
Albus obediently released Rose and got to his feet. Scorpius managed to pry Rose off his chest. Albus helped him up. Scorpius' once-immaculate robes were soiled with grass-stains, but they were nothing to the wreckage of Rose's.  
  
"Daddy!" wailed Rose, and threw herself into Uncle Ron's arms. She hid her face in his chest and began to cry loudly.  
  
"Now see here," blustered Uncle Ron, "just what have you been doing to my daughter, you little devil?"  
  
"She grabbed me. I was trying to get her off." Scorpius was breathing heavily. Almost unconsciously, Albus edged closer to him.   
  
Within seconds they were joined by Mr Malfoy and Dad. "What's going on here?" asked Dad.  
  
"That bastard's son attacked Rosie, that's what!"  
  
"I did not!" said Scorpius loudly, as Mr Malfoy chimed in, "How dare you make these baseless accusations? Ask your own precious daughter what happened."  
  
"Rose?" Aunt Hermione shook her daughter's shoulder. Rose burrowed deeper into Uncle Ron's chest, making a growl of protest. "Come along, dear, tell us what happened."  
  
"I don't want to!" bawled Rose, lifting her head for a moment - just long enough for Albus to see that she wasn't crying at all.  
  
At that a thousand thrusts and parries issued from the mouths of the adults assembled. There was Uncle Ron, bellowing about how Malfoys were scum and not to be trusted; Mr Malfoy sneering that by all accounts Rose was a spoiled madam and beaten by a Mudblood and a Malfoy in the rankings to boot; Aunt Hermione shrieking, first at one person and then another, calling her husband to task for yelling and Mr Malfoy for using the M-word; and Dad, too, his face red as a tomato, yelling that he'd always known Malfoy's brat would be a bad influence and here was the proof.  
  
Scorpius went very white, looking too shocked even to speak. Albus took a deep breath and shouted.  
  
"SHUT UP! JUST ALL OF YOU, SHUT UP!"  
  
The surprise of hearing the enraged order worked for half a second. Then Aunt Hermione said, "Albus, dear, we're just trying to get to the bottom of this -"  
  
"There's no need! I'll _tell_ you. Rose wanted me to play with her instead of Scorpius. I refused, and she tried to stop us leaving."  
  
"Ridiculous," said Uncle Ron. "Rosie wouldn't do that. None of it makes any sense. Why wouldn't you want to play with her - your own cousin?"  
  
"Because," panted Albus, at the end of his tether, "she's a bitch."  
  
After that, all hell broke loose.


	10. Chapter 10

_maggie and milly and molly and may  
went down to the beach(to play one day)  
  
and maggie discovered a shell that sang  
so sweetly she couldn't remember her troubles,and  
  
milly befriended a stranded star  
whose rays five languid fingers were;  
  
and molly was chased by a horrible thing  
which raced sideways while blowing bubbles:and  
  
may came home with a smooth round stone  
as small as a world and as large as alone.  
  
For whatever we lose(like a you or a me)  
it's always ourselves we find in the sea_  
(e.e. cummings)  
  
Albus was at the bottom of a deep well. There was nothing about the current decor to suggest that it wasn't perhaps a prison, or a dusty nook in a wine cellar, but Albus knew that it was a well the same way he knew his eyes were green and his hair was brown.  
  
He'd been in the well for quite some time. If Titania had been there with him, she'd have been complaining of hunger by now. If Norma had been there, she would have already devised a plan for their escape, with the help of Rambo's brute magic - if they'd been there. No one was there except Albus, but he was expecting someone.  
  
The stone walls of the well were laced with spongy moss, the colour of what green would be if the only other colour in the world was black. The stones looked damp, the moss invitingly soft, but Albus had already tried touching them. Doing so gave no more tactile information than waving a hand through air.  
  
Whenever Albus tried to think too hard about anything - and his mind kept straying to his friends - the walls seemed to close in on him, distracting him with a primal fear that sheared off the thoughts at their roots. He wasn't afraid; fear was one of the emotions guiding the thoughts, but without the thoughts it had no shape.   
  
He had no idea how much time had passed in the well, but he was learning patience fast.  
  
+_+_+  
  
"We meet again, Albus Severus Potter."  
  
Albus struggled to open his eyes; then he struggled to unkink his neck. He'd fallen into a doze on the floor of the well. His nose was harbouring ambitions to remain permanently welded to his collarbone. Absorbed in rubbing the tension out of his shoulders, Albus took his time responding to the greeting. When he did, Severus Snape bore a distinctly unimpressed expression, complete with folded arms and a slowly tapping foot.  
  
"Hello, Professor," said Albus. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"I am doing absolutely nothing," said Snape. "The reason being, I'm not actually here. Your mind is playing tricks on you."  
  
"I'm glad it played you, then, and not some horrible green monster with tentacles," said Albus. "I'm not so good with tentacles. They creep me out."  
  
For someone who wasn't really there, Snape did an excellent job of rolling his eyes.  
  
"You're a Potter," he said, "and therefore, I must concurrently assume, an ill-cultured buffoon. Have you ever come across the works of Charles Dickens?"  
  
"Would my own mind insult me this much?" wondered Albus.  
  
"Believe me; you have no idea of the depths to which your own mind will stoop." For a moment, Snape's face was contorted in a grimace - strangely similar to the one Hugo made when he was trying not to cry, but with lines that ran deeper across his face. "Answer my question, if you don't mind, and refrain from asking inane ones of your own."  
  
"Charles Dickens?" Albus thought hard. "No, I don't think so. Was he a great wizard?"  
  
"The history books would have you believe so," said Snape, "but as history book are written by historians and not the people they write about, I think we can safely leave that aside. He was a moderately skilled wizard who fell on hard times and made spare cash selling stories to Muggles. He was a Slytherin, of course; the House was a far more brutal place in his time - quite bleak. In any case, he wasn't above mixing and matching Muggle and magic -"  
  
"Try saying that five times fast," murmured Albus, earning himself a narrow glare.  
  
" _As I was saying_ , he played fast and loose with his own experiences. At one point in his student life, he nearly drowned in the Great Lake. That's why so many stupid Muggles know Mystery of the Three Ghosts - because he bastardised the Mystery in some silly songbook. I suppose Muggles may even experience it, although my research would suggest that they are not as attuned to other dimensions as the magical brethren. Mundane minds and so on."  
  
"Maybe not." Albus shrugged. "But I've heard of this thing called _tee-vee_ and it sounds _great_."  
  
Snape made a noise half way between 'pfft' and 'augh.' "The point I am attempting to make, and that you are forcing me to labour like a pack-animal, is that you are currently being inducted into the Mystery of the Three Ghosts. I am Past, and I am here to guide you into your memory."  
  
"Past? What? I don't understand."  
  
"Why does that not surprise me - a Potter, misunderstanding?" Snape muttered something under his breath; Albus guessed it was a rude word. "Have you ever heard the term, 'your life flashing before your eyes'?"  
  
"Well, yeah. People say it happens before you..."  
  
"Exactly." Snape gripped his arm; it felt very real, and very painful. "Potter, welcome to your Past."  
  
+_+_+  
  
It was an extremely odd sensation, looking at your past self. Albus' consciousness was floating somewhere around the treetops, watching everything from a three-sixty degree angle that would have been physically impossible had he been inside his own body. Yet, every now and then, he could feel flashes of sense memory. The conversations flowed and ebbed, but when they reached a point Albus remembered as being annoying or frustrating, or downright unfair, he felt an echo of it - just as he did when he remembered anything unpleasant.  
  
Snape was nowhere to be seen. Albus could recall the pinch of his fingers, guiding him through a lighted tunnel that was shorter than a second and longer than a lifetime. But as soon as he'd opened his eyes to the scene of Luna's wedding - in particular, the aftermath of his and Scorpius' tussle with Rose - Snape's touch ceased to exist.  
  
Albus floated over to where his body was standing, shoulder-to-shoulder with Scorpius against the firing squad of the Potter parentship. Albus hadn't realised at the time that he and Scorpius were wearing curiously identical mutinous expressions. Even their arms were folded the same way. Despite the physical dissimilarities - Scorpius' three-inch superiority in height, his curls almost white against Albus' unruly dark spikes, his paleness contrasting strongly with Albus' ruddy cheeks and freckle-splodged nose - they looked more alike than Albus and James ever had.  
  
Dad was shaking his head, looking more bewildered than angry. All the adults bore versions of the same look; Uncle Ron was the only one who looked plainly and completely enraged. He and Aunt Hermione were at the other side of the field, comforting Rose, who was suffering a fit of hysterics.  
  
"Look, I'm not trying to punish you," Dad was saying as Albus floated over to stand beside his body. "I just want to understand why you called Rose that awful name. It's not like you to be so rude. Well -" Dad rethought his last comment "- not without a good reason, anyway."  
  
Scorpius opened his mouth to say something, but Albus’ body elbowed him in the side and shot him a vicious glare. Scorpius scowled.  
  
Dad's voice became stern. "I don't want to lay blame where it's undeserved, but if you persist with this, I'll have no choice but to assume your faulty choice in friends is at the root of it."  
  
"Not this again," said Albus' body. Albus felt a sting of rage dart through his mind, a faint reminder of the full-blown emotion he'd felt at the time. "Look, I had a good reason to call Rose what I did. I'm sorry I was so mean, but I didn't intend to say it. It sort of slipped out."  
  
"If you tell me the reason -" started Dad, and Scorpius chimed in.  
  
"Don't you think it would be better if -"  
  
"Dad," appealed Albus' body, turning so that he excluded Scorpius from the conversation. "Punish me all you want, but I'm not telling you anything except that I was angry and that I'm sorry for it now."  
  
Dad sighed heavily. When he ran a hand through his hair, Albus could see that it was more speckled with grey than ever.   
  
"Then I think it's best if you don't hang around with Malfoy's son anymore." Dad held up a hand, stemming the tide of Albus' outrage. "Consider it your punishment. You're too young, and too close to the situation, to understand the effect he's obviously having on your mind. Before you met him, you didn't lie, you didn't call names and you didn't backchat."  
  
"I don't lie _now_ ," said Albus' body, the hurt so overwhelming that Albus felt the memory gush through him.  
  
"You're refusing to tell me why you acted so horribly," said Dad. "That's a lie by omission."  
  
"Mr Potter, please," said Scorpius. Dad turned his gaze on to Scorpius, his eyes flashing green fire.  
  
"What?" he snapped. Even Albus would have quailed at the bite in his voice. Scorpius paled even more, but he stood his ground. Mum, who had been silent up to now, her face an open book of anguish and regret, put a hand on Dad's arm.  
  
She murmured something into his ear that Albus hadn't quite caught the first time around. Albus floated closer and heard her say, "The boy isn't Draco, darling, no matter how much he looks like he is. He's got some good blood in him too."  
  
Dad snorted, but his gaze flicked away from Scorpius to where Serena was standing with her husband, her long fingers wrapped around the stem of a wineglass. Her diamond pendant flashed in the sun.  
  
"Come on then," said Dad. His voice was significantly less frosty than before. "Out with it."  
  
"Rose and I don't get along," said Scorpius. Albus' body glared daggers at him, but Scorpius soldiered on. "I beat her in exams and I know as many spells as she does. Mother says we rub each other up the wrong way. This fight was mainly my fault and hers. You shouldn't punish Albus for it."  
  
"That's a pretty little speech, but it doesn't make up for the fact that my son called my niece a bitch - and now he won't tell me why."  
  
"Perhaps you should trust him," said Scorpius. "Perhaps he's just trying to protect you."  
  
Dad snorted. "Protect me from what? The last I checked, there were no Dark Lords or Death Eaters around to make life dangerous. The only one who needs protecting is Albus, and the only thing he needs protection from is you."  
  
"I see the years haven't dulled that wit and charm I remember so well," said a dry voice. Mr Malfoy strolled into the fray, with one hand lightly holding a wineglass and the other resting in the small of Mrs Malfoy's back. "You clearly don't inspire much confidence in your children, do you, Potter?"  
  
" _Caro_ , is that necessary?" reproved Mrs Malfoy. She directed a slow smile at Dad. "I'm sure Mr Potter does the best he can."  
  
"I - do," said Dad. Mum rolled her eyes at Mrs Malfoy, who just smiled more.   
  
"Fortunately for all of us, my child confides in me, so I can shed some light on the situation," said Mr Malfoy. "You see, the thing is -"  
  
"Mr Malfoy," Albus broke in desperately, "please don't."  
  
Mr Malfoy stopped short. "Whatever is the matter? Despite your ancestry, which I loathe and abhor, I'm trying to help you."  
  
"Father," said Scorpius, at the same time as Mrs Malfoy stopped smiling to say, "Draco," in tones of deepest annoyance.  
  
" _Fine_ ," huffed Mr Malfoy. "Your ancestry is no worse than mine, all things considered. Probably. Now, _Harry_ , I'm sure it will shock you to learn that your precious niece is not the creature of sweetness and light all Gryffindors are supposed to be - although if you had a brain cell in your head, it wouldn't. I hold out no hope on that score, however."  
  
"Just spit it out," said Dad. "I haven't got all day to stand around and listen to your base slander."  
  
"Your niece," said Mr Malfoy, enunciating every word, "stole your son's favourite toy and threw it in a river. My son nearly lost his life trying to save the damn thing. Personally, I'd call that grounds to call the girl a bitch - but of course, I know not your Gryffindorian standards of perfection."  
  
"Mouse? You told me you gave him to your friend!" said Mum. "Why did you lie about it? Oh, sweetheart."  
  
Albus' body was crushed in a hug that Albus hadn't enjoyed at the time, and that he didn't intend on suffering through again. More interesting were the looks on Dad's and Mr Malfoy's faces - one of unalloyed shock, the other of smug satisfaction.  
  
"Is this true?" asked Dad. "Albus? Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
"I should have thought that was obvious." Mr Malfoy sniffed. "Come, Scorpius. I'm afraid if we stay here much longer some of their bad parenting might rub off on you."  
  
Scorpius touched Albus' body's arm and whispered, "I'm sorry. I always tell them everything, but I didn't -"  
  
He stepped away and followed his father. Albus was willing to leave his body behind, to ignore the mingled, mixed-up feelings of relief and anger that had swollen from Mr Malfoy's bombshell. He floated after the Malfoys. Mr Malfoy stopped in front of Aunt Hermione.  
  
"I always thought you had more intelligence than most Gryffindors," he said brusquely. Aunt Hermione stared at him. Her unflattering olive dress robes were covered in snot and tears, her hair was a mess and her nose was red from the champagne, but Mr Malfoy was treating her with the respect due a queen. "I'll leave it to you to ferret out the truth of the matter. All I suggest is that you ask your daughter about a certain Mouse."  
  
"Mouse?" Aunt Hermione pushed her fuzzy hair off her forehead. "You don't mean Albus' toy Mouse?"  
  
"There, you see?" said Mr Malfoy to his wife. "Quite clever, for a Gryffindor."  
  
Mrs Malfoy made a non-committal noise, but she was smirking at her husband in a way Albus had never seen her share with anyone else. "Goodbye, Mrs Weasley," she said politely. "Well, Scorpius? Did you enjoy yourself?"  
  
"I should damn well hope so, dragging us to this godforsaken copse just so you could see your objectionable little friend," said Mr Malfoy.  
  
"Come now," said Mrs Malfoy. "You can't deny that you enjoyed meeting Miss Lovegood again - or, should I say, Mrs Scamander."  
  
"No, it's still Miss Lovegood. She's not changing her name, of course - that would be far too normal."  
  
The elder Malfoys laughed, their attention diverted from their son to their own amusing conversation. Neither of them noticed that Scorpius hadn't answered the question.  
  
+_+_+  
  
Albus was woken by a chubby finger prodding the back of his neck. This was Lily's habitual manner of waking anyone she believed needed to be woken, so when Albus crawled into a sitting position he wasn't surprised to see his sister standing in front of him. Both of her fists were planted square on her hips; her flowery pumps were lighting up of their own accord.  
  
"I thought you were gonna sleep forever," she announced. "That would be _so_ boring. I've got some really fun stuff to show you."  
  
"Are you a Ghost too?" asked Albus.  
  
"D'oh," giggled Lily. "I'm here to give you a Present."  
  
+_+_+  
  
Albus stood next to his body, which was marvelling at the wonders there were to behold around every corner. Rambo was sinking into a sofa, with little hope of ever emerging, and flicking channels on the TV with all the careless abandon of one for whom the charm of novelty has long since fled.  
  
"This place is so cool," said Albus' body fervently. Albus stood beside it and touched his own shoulder. The skin sucked his energy inside; and all of a sudden he was looking out through his own eyes instead of at them.  
  
"Yeah, it's pretty nice," Rambo agreed. "Dad'll be home soon. He's ever so keen to meet you. I hope you have a secret passion for answering endless questions."  
  
Albus nodded, although he felt far more like asking questions than answering them.   
  
Rambo's house was, if possible, even cooler than Hogwarts. Albus had grown up with magical all around, so the moving stairs and the sky in the Great Hall were the only two things that truly impressed him there. He'd caught a Muggle train to Rambo's home town, where he'd had lunch with him and Mrs Dursley. The shopping centre had escalators, which were like the moving stairs only _better_. And once Rambo turned on the TV, Albus realised that even the sky in the Great Hall was facing some stiff competition.  
  
"If you look in that cabinet over there," said Rambo, "you'll find all our DVDs. You can pick one to watch if you like."  
  
"What's a DVD? And what do they do that's worth watching?"  
  
"I think it'd be easier to show you rather than tell you. Have you seen a film before?"  
  
"Oh, sure," said Albus. Wizarding cinema was very expensive, but his parents had taken him and his siblings there every year. His favourite had been the film version of Marvin the Mad Muggle. There were rumours that one of VD Wallflower's books was to be turned into a film, but even if they were true it would take years to make. Albus wondered if Muggles had as many films as wizards.   
  
He opened the cabinet and saw row upon row of tiny plastic boxes, which didn't in the slightest resemble the huge canisters he'd once seen in the projection room. Perhaps the canisters were hidden behind the tiny boxes? With that thought in mind, he shoved a stack of them aside. A few fell on the floor, and the noise roused Rambo.  
  
"What are you doing? Be a bit more careful, eh? If you step on them, they stay broken."  
  
"What do you mean? Step on what?"  
  
"The DVDs, idiot." Making a gargantuan effort, Rambo heaved himself out of the squishy sofa and joined Albus at the cabinet. He picked up a plastic box. "Here's one - _Pirates of the Caribbean_. It's ancient, but my dad loves it. The special effects are rudimentary, of course, but it's still a fun film."  
  
"This is a film?"  
  
"It is." Rambo opened the box, revealing a shiny round circle inside. "I'm not sure exactly how the technology works - I was going to ask my high school computer science teacher, but of course I went to Hogwarts instead - but the film is printed on the CD. When I put it in the DVD player, the film comes up on the TV."  
  
"But there are hundreds of them!" Albus looked starry-eyed at the endless array of DVDs. "More than you could ever watch!"  
  
"There's not _that_ many," said Rambo. "How about we start with _Pirates_ , then?"  
  
Albus had no objection, so they settled down in front of the TV. Presently, Mrs Dursley came in to see if they wanted snacks.   
  
Mrs 'Call-me-Crystal-cutepie!' Dursley was like no adult female Albus had ever seen. She didn't wear robes. Albus was prepared for that. He knew Muggles didn't, and he and his own parents wore jeans and sweaters regularly. Call-me-Crystal's clothes weren't all that different in their basic concept, barring one important distinction: Call-me-Crystal's jeans were welded to her legs, and her sweaters were the colour of candy and designed to fit a child. Albus hadn't accidentally thought the word 'breasts' so often since he'd last seen Serena Malfoy.  
  
"Are you boys okay? Do you want milkshakes and cookies? How about some pancakes? I could whip them up in five seconds flat."  
  
"I'm fine," said Rambo. "What 'bout you, Al?"  
  
"Oh, I'm still full from lunch," said Albus. He declined to remind Call-me-Crystal that she'd forced three servings of everything on him, with the consequence that he felt as bloated as pregnant elephant.  
  
"Don't be silly!" she cried. "Lunch was a whole hour ago. I know how boys eat."  
  
"Maybe some crackers then," said Rambo diplomatically.   
  
From what Albus had gleaned from Call-me-Crystal's rants on the subject, Rambo had dropped to skin and bone at school from eating merely three enormous meals a day. Albus could see how Rambo - who seemed to have a terminal fear of giving offence - ended up consuming far more food than he either needed or wanted just to satisfy his mother. Albus had also seen the predatory way Call-me-Crystal had tracked each mouthful disappearing down Rambo's gullet, and surmised that the only way she kept to her own starvation diet was through eating by proxy.  
  
Despite her alien appearance and obsession with food, Albus quite liked Call-me-Crystal. He suspected that Lily would like her even more, and Mum not at all. He was starting to realise that every woman was strange. Call-me-Crystal was no exception.  
  
But Mr Dursley was the one Albus really wanted to meet. He was the one who'd known Dad as a child, the one who featured prominently in Rambo's stories about his home life. Mr Dursley was the hub of this miniature family, so Albus was intensely curious about him.  
  
Mr Dursley didn't return home from work until well after six. Rambo had told Albus that his father ran a gym, whatever that was. At half-past, his booming "HELLO, FAMILY" resounded through the house. He strode into the living room like a Colossus, and Rambo wriggled out of the sofa in five seconds flat in order to give his father a hug.  
  
"So this is Harry's son, eh?" Mr Dursley rested his slab-like hand on Rambo's head and stared at Albus. Albus stared back. The pictures hadn't done Mr Dursley justice. He was huge, but all of his hugeness was bronzed muscle.   
  
"Albus Potter, pleased to meet you." Albus stuck out his hand and Mr Dursley shook it, nearly breaking it off at the wrist.   
  
"It's incredible." Mr Dursley circled the sofa, keeping Albus in his eye line. Albus felt a little like a butterfly pinned to a corkboard. "You look so like your father - only he was much paler than you. And he always looked angry."  
  
"Really?" Albus absorbed this information, trying to make sense of it. "Well, he doesn't get angry much anymore. Except when we're naughty."  
  
Mr Dursley laughed, and the ornaments on the mantelpiece rattled. "That's one thing you learn when you get to be as old as us, son - how to control your temper. Tell me, do you have any brothers or sisters?"  
  
"Yup - I have a little sister called Lily, who's nearly ten. She'll be starting Hogwarts next September." Albus brought himself up short. "Oh yeah, and I have a brother. James."  
  
"Don't get along, eh?" Mr Dursley's small eyes twinkled. "Not surprising. Your father and I fought like weasels when we were young'uns. Goes with the territory. Give yourselves a few decades and you'll be nice as pie to each other - just you wait and see."  
  
"I'll do that," said Albus.  
  
"My son's told you I teach combat for a living, hasn't he?" said Mr Dursley. "Rambo! On guard!"  
  
Rambo immediately put his fists up. Mr Dursley swung a few gentle punches. Albus could tell he wasn't putting his full strength behind them because he wasn't even tensing his muscles. Rambo blocked the first three blows but the fourth got under his guard, tipping him on the shoulder. He fell back on to the sofa, breathless. Mr Dursley hadn't so much as moved his feet.  
  
"Wow," said Albus, his eyes round as marbles. "Could you teach me that?"  
  
"What would you like to learn?" asked Mr Dursley.  
  
+_+_+  
  
"No, that's wrong," said Lily. "That's the wrong part of the present."  
  
"You're the one in charge here," protested Albus. "How was I supposed to know?"  
  
"I'm a figment of _your_ imagination," said Lily. "Now try again - and this time, go to the right place."  
  
+_+_+  
  
Albus felt a throbbing pain in his right hand. When he looked down, he nearly threw up in disgust and horror. A wire was leading into into his vein, a tube coming out, and a creepy orange liquid was going inside of him.   
  
He looked around, breathing hard. He was lying in a bed on wheels, under covers patterned with sick-making pale green leaves. There was a curtain rail around the bed; the clinical blue curtains were drawn closed. Machines beeped and hummed at him. One had a screen with green and red lines going up and down. Bags of more yucky liquid hung from what looked like a coat-rack. A grey clothes-peg pinched his finger.  
  
Albus couldn't prevent a fear-stricken whimper passing his lips. He looked like he was in some kind of torture chamber, all alone.  
  
A squeak of shoes on parquet alerted him to someone's arrival. He immediately realised how much better it was to be alone in a torture chamber rather than in company. Fortunately, the woman who wrenched aside his curtains - letting in blinding sunlight - didn't look much like Albus' idea of a torturer. She was dressed in a white tunic and shapeless navy trousers; her greasy hair was scraped back in a bun and she was wearing a nametag. Albus squinted, trying to read her name as she bent over him and adjusted his pillows, then took his wrist in a death grip.  
  
"Pulse still weak and thready," she said accusingly, as if it were Albus' fault. "Let's take your blood pressure, shall we?"  
  
"Where am I, please?" asked Albus.  
  
"In the Happy Funhouse of Fun," she said, and caught sight of Albus' face. "The hospital, Albus. I'm sorry - it's just that you've asked me that every single day. I'm Nurse Allison, remember? You had a severe allergic attack, remember?" She sighed. "There's nothing wrong with your memory. I'm starting to think you do this for the attention."  
  
"Where's Mum and Dad? Have you Owled them yet?"  
  
"Now stop this nonsense," said Nurse Allison firmly. "It's making you agitated and you need to rest. Your guardians will be along to visit you at four o'clock - you wouldn't want to be too tired to see them, now would you?"  
  
"No," guessed Albus.  
  
"That's right. Now be a good boy and sit up while I take your blood pressure." The blood pressure, whatever that was, made Nurse Allison frown and suck in her lower lip. "I'll get Doctor Kildare to come take a look at you. The IV saline hasn't helped your systolic BP at all."  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"Don't be silly," said Nurse Allison distractedly. "It's not your fault." She held a small black object to her mouth. "Page Kildare to ward 203, Albus Potter." She turned to Albus. "The doctor will be along shortly."  
  
"I'm hungry," said Albus.  
  
"Well, you just had breakfast. You'll have to wait for morning tea."  
  
"All right," said Albus. He suddenly felt exhausted, so he lay back and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, a broad face with heavy-set eyebrows was leaning over him.  
  
"Good, you're awake," said the face. "I'm Doctor Kildare. Do you remember me?" Albus shook his head. "That's all right. I work in geriatrics usually, so I'm used to people not remembering who I am." Doctor Kildare flipped open Albus' chart. "Still no medical history? What are those nurses doing? Albus, do you remember being sick on any previous occasions? An earache, a 'flu, anything."  
  
"Yeah," said Albus, "I have an immune deficiency."  
  
"That's a start - although you could have mentioned this before. Is it a serious condition? I don't see any medications on here."  
  
"Samire gave me potions," said Albus. "I don't know what's in them - I'm only a first-year."  
  
"Oh, great," muttered the doctor. "Hippies." Louder, he said, "I guess that's why there's nothing mentioned. It's all right. Hmm." He tapped his chin. "I might try giving you some standard vaccinations. Hopefully they'll help you shake that lingering cold. Are your guardians around to sign a form for me?"  
  
"I don't know who they are," said Albus. "I want Mum."  
  
"Look, do you want a scone?" said Doctor Kildare. Albus shook his head, but Doctor Kildare cut one in half anyway. In the meantime the obstinate tears welling in Albus' eyes died back, and he was able to accept the offering with suitable composure.   
  
"I'll fetch the inoculation needle," said Doctor Kildare. "I'll be right back. Eat your scone."  
  
"Does it have nuts in it?" asked Albus anxiously. But the doctor had already gone.  
  
Albus put the scone aside and tried to relax his mind. The last he could remember was staying at Rambo's house...  
  
He thought and thought, but he couldn't put together a sequence of events that led to him being stranded in this strange place. He saw that his chart had been left on his bed; inspiration struck, and he took a peek.  
  
Almost all the sections were empty - everything but his name, an incomprehensible trail of scrawls under 'current treatments' and _Crystal and Dudley Dursley_ written besides 'parents or guardians.'  
  
Albus traced the word 'parents' with his finger. "But what happened to Mum and Dad?" he asked the empty air.  
  
When Doctor Kildare returned, Albus had put the chart back where he found it. There was nothing on the tea tray to suggest that the scone was gluten-free, so Albus hadn't touched it. Doctor Kildare didn't appear to notice. He was prepping a needle and syringe, making it squirt liquid into the air. Albus had seen needles before. James had dressed up as a saw-doctor for Halloween three years running, and had liked to pretend to stick it in Albus.  
  
"What are you doing with that?" Albus couldn't keep the apprehension out of his voice.  
  
Doctor Kildare's expression was surprised. "You've never had a vaccination before? Oh. It's quick and painless - don't worry -"  
  
Albus didn't worry, but he did scream and scream and scream.  
  
+_+_+  
  
Someone was stroking his hair, soft fingers weaving through it to gentle his scalp. Albus knew one moment of perfect contentment; a moment that he would later remember, although the source would be lost to time, and try to feel again - without success.  
  
"Feels nice," he mumbled.  
  
"It's good to finally get some feedback," drawled the person petting him. "I've only been doing this for five hundred hours."  
  
"You're such a drama queen, Scorpius." Albus breathed deep - for some reason Scorpius-here smelled of vanilla, which Scorpius-there certainly didn't - and let his eyes blink open. He was looking straight up Scorpius' nostrils. "That's a pleasant view."  
  
"You must like it," said Scorpius. "It's not as if I'm the one controlling your urge to loll about in my lap."  
  
"You smell nice," Albus told him. Scorpius blushed.  
  
"This is all highly irrelevant. Did the other Ghosts explain the situation to you?"  
  
"Not really," said Albus. "One of them was a cranky old Headmaster who reminded me a lot of your Dad, in the sense that he thought I was a blithering idiot, and the other one was my kid sister. Neither of them was terribly helpful."  
  
"Trust me to be the fountain of wisdom," sighed Scorpius. "I gather you've realised you very nearly died. You got a lot closer to it than usual. The real version of me is in bits over it. But you're not actually dead, which is a mercy for all concerned. You're on the way back out. We three Ghosts are your guardians."  
  
"The way back out of where?"  
  
"Here, of course." Scorpius waved his hand at the mossy well. "I have no idea why your idea of the afterlife is a well. If only the real me could have a long and serious chat to you about it - but of course you won't remember a thing when you wake up. I deeply believe there should be more harps and angels. And maybe a few fluffy clouds."  
  
"I'm afraid of heights," Albus reminded him. "Why would I want to be up in the sky with a bunch of clouds and flying maniacs? That's more like your idea of heaven."  
  
"Hmm, I suppose." Scorpius rose gracefully to his feet and held out a hand. "Let's go then, you and I, to see what your future holds."  
  
Albus reached out, but didn't let Scorpius pull him up. "Our parents don't want us to be friends."  
  
"What have our parents got to do with anything?" Scorpius let out a snort. "C'mon, I'll lead you through. And I'll be waiting for you on the flipside."  
  
+_+_+  
  
Albus sat on the porch of Godric's Hollow, one leg folded beneath him and the other gently rocking the porch swing. Mum had piled a Sherpa’s dowry of woolly crocheted blankets around him. The summer air was sharp with the hint of autumn; Albus could spot cheeky splashes of red in the leaves. It wasn't cool enough to be unpleasant, but it was cool enough for him to be grateful for the blankets.  
  
When the porch door banged, Albus stiffened. There was only one person who announced their travels through the house by banging every door in it: James. And Albus really wasn't in the mood for James tonight.  
  
James was uncustomarily silent when he stomped on to the porch. After a moment's deliberation, he sat down on the swing beside Albus. Albus bit his lip and turned away. He didn't want to provoke James with words; hopefully his silence would sufficiently bore James into seeking amusement elsewhere.  
  
James' foot played ragtime on the wooden floor. "Mum and Dad were so worried when they couldn't contact you," was his surprising opening shot.  
  
"Huh?" Albus turned his eyes to James, trying to read the punch line. But James' usually mobile face was still, his wicked eyes shaded.   
  
"It was crazy," James went on. "They never thought the Dursleys would stop you from going to the nearest Owl office to check in, and all their owls got returned to sender. O'course, you can't send owls to Muggles who aren't in the know about us, like that hospital. And the Dursleys couldn't find us, being Unplottable and all. It was ... mad. Crazy."  
  
"You said that already," said Albus. "And I _know_ all this. Believe me, I didn't intend on getting sick before I could write home and let them know where I was. If we'd had one of those 'mobile phones' -" he pronounced the unfamiliar words carefully "- like Crystal gave Mum, we wouldn't have had a problem. But look, I really didn't know I was allergic to hayseeds as well as everything else."  
  
"Yeah, well." James' heel was slamming against the floor now, all rhythm lost. "Those Muggle doctors, what were they like?"  
  
"Totally insane," said Albus. He amended it to, "Well, I suppose they do their best with what they have, which isn't much. You'd like them: lots of blood and cutting people open and stuff."  
  
James laughed, a nervous donkey sound that made Albus at first fear he was choking to death. He'd never heard James laugh before: snigger, yes; laugh, no. "Yeah, well," he said again, like it was a funny catchphrase. "Listen, just ... don't die, all right?"  
  
"Pardon?" said Albus. Astonishment made his fingertips tingle.   
  
"Don't _die_ ," said James, fiercely. "All that time, I should have been glad you were gone and I wasn't. _I should have been glad_ , but all I could think was that I was sorry for telling Rose to do that to Mouse."  
  
"If you're feeling that penitent, you could always go fetch me a glass of cranberry juice," said Albus. He felt rather light-headed, but he didn't think it was due to anything allergy-related.  
  
"Don't be stupid." James' face contorted into a gruesome scowl. "We're not ... friends. This isn't a truce. Just _don't die_."  
  
"Oh, well then," said Albus. "If you insist."  
  
James stood up abruptly. He shoved the swing so hard it crashed against the side of the house. The resulting upswing made Albus' stomach loop-the-loop.   
  
"Promise me," he said.  
  
"Christ, James." Albus caught sight of his brother's face. It was wearing a look Albus had never seen there before. "Fine. I promise to do my very best not to die, despite what you and my allergies might do to convince me otherwise."  
  
James let go of the swing and strode to the door. Albus was just resettling his blankets when James said, "From now on, just worry about the allergies."  
  
+_+_+  
  
Albus could hear them before he could see them - their voices were coming closer and closer, as if he were on a train rushing into the station. A whitish film blurred his vision, but it was steadily burning away, like a mist in the sun.   
  
There was Mum, talking to Dad; James and Lily arguing about the last apple; two well-modulated voices conversing quietly from further away.   
  
And. Someone was gripping his hand tight enough to cut off the circulation.   
  
And. Someone smelled of sweat and hospital disinfectant and vanilla.  
  
Albus opened his eyes and smiled at Scorpius.


End file.
